


Raising the Ante

by Nikkusama



Series: Keys and Locks [2]
Category: The Sexy Brutale (Video Game)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12514380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkusama/pseuds/Nikkusama
Summary: Rather salacious sequel to Playing the Hand You’re Dealt. Following the near-tragedy in the Theatre Brutale, Greyson reassesses the desirability and merit of his previously high-stakes lifestyle, especially now that a relationship with Redd is on the cards.





	1. Chapter 1

Greyson returned to his room a little after eight o’clock in the morning, after what had been an incredibly long and rather bewildering night. As much as he’d tried to downplay it, Lucas really had gone too far this time; they’d almost been quite hurt. 

He let the door close behind him with an audible click. Leaning back against it with a long sigh, he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't stupid- he'd anticipated to be subject to some sort of depraved game; Lucas may be an old friend, but he was also a vicious cad who enjoyed toying with people for his own amusement. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been subject to his sense of humour before; look at that fiasco with the hunting traps, for goodness sake. If he hadn’t been so _bloody_ lucky…no, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Not one part of this night had gone to plan; not that he put much stock in trying to predict every eventuality, but he was pretty good at guessing how things were basically going to go and winging the rest. He’d _expected_ perhaps a sort of twisted treasure hunt, needing to pit his skills as both a locksmith and, yes, a thief, against Lucas’ idea of a reasonable place to store items of worth. Just a bit of fun. A game. What he’d got, instead, probably qualified as the single most terrifying moment of his life. For a brief second, as those spikes drew up and Redd flailed about on stage in a panic, he saw exactly how Lucas’s cruel mind worked; the Egg, the stage – it was all for him, a warped allegory to his passion as seen through the eyes of a crazy, rich bastard who was not above adding real threat to his entertainment. Well, Greyson hoped he enjoyed the show; there wouldn’t be a repeat performance.

In fact, after last night, so much about the _Brutale_ had lost its allure; for the past year the old place had been a treasure in its own right, filled with delectable temptations lying just out of reach, but close enough to pursue with verve and vigour. Now he saw the rather unattractive reality under the building’s embellishment.

Greyson glanced around his room; adorned to his walls were all manner of diagrams and maps, copies of the _Brutale’s_ floorplan overlaid with his own notes detailing hidden corridors and secret tunnels, passwords and locks. In some places his handwriting was so dense that it was difficult to see the designs underneath. That old codger Thanos certainly had a preference to where he installed some of the more bespoke aspects of the mansion’s secrets; corridors and rooms behind paintings were staples, passages or mechanisms to open passages behind bookcases similarly favoured. There were even the odd trapdoor tucked away under a well-placed rug, though these invariably led to cellars containing booze more often than they concealed a rare treasure; Greyson had helped himself to the demijohn of _Rhum Clément._ There should be some left.

God, he could do with a drink.

Pouring himself a decent measure he made up his mind. Glass in hand, and swaying slightly, he decisively strode towards the schematics regarding the retrieval of the Moloch Egg. He had no more time for the blasted thing. He tore down the plans with his free hand, roughly scrunching the various bits of paper together. Over the past year he’d painstakingly collected all manner of things; hand-copied receipts, the record of the Egg’s craftsmanship and copy of the certificate of authenticity… and of course, there was his detailed plans for its retrieval. He had no need to any of it now. Satisfied that was everything, and casting one last look at the sum total of a year’s work, he unceremoniously cast the lot into the fire.

He downed his glass as the pages flared in the grate. It wasn’t like him to mope – his life’s philosophy boiled down to swiftly forgetting hardship and moving on; after all, there was always a bigger and better treasure to pursue– but he didn’t deny that he felt a pang of _something_ as the room was briefly illuminated by the burning paper.

Perhaps it _was_ time, once again, to start over; he certainly had enough cash stashed away to start afresh. He still had a sizeable sum in savings from previous heists, and the Marquis, for all he was a devious bastard, had paid him a handsome salary; a quick sweep of the place could have him set for life, or at least until a new enticement caught his eye.

The pages turned black, crumbing to ash. Good riddance to it all.

He poured himself another drink.

Speaking of enticement, the situation with Redd had also turned out rather unexpectedly; it has genuinely caught him off guard that his affections had run so deep. He’d certainly given no indication that his inclinations were as such; Greyson had honestly suspected, despite Redd’s repeated assertions to contrary, that he was in some way involved with that Tequila girl. But, in hindsight, it seemed obvious now: how many times had Redd come with him just for reconnaissance? Spent his precious free time on a fool’s errand that, by rights, wasn’t even his?

He idly stroked a hand through his beard, a small smile playing on his lips. He wouldn’t deny that there wasn’t some reciprocated affection; indeed, he hadn’t felt this close to someone for an incredibly long time. And Redd was certainly a handsome fellow, with his regular features, ready smile and warm demeanour…

Companionship wasn’t something Greyson thought too much about; he worked alone, and took great pride in how he was almost entirely self-sufficient in the execution of his plans. Other people were, too often, a liability, or worse, a threat, and served no other purpose than to be used to further his goals. Menial things, like procuring items to avoid a paper trail, or throw the police of the scent. Affections were easy enough to garner if he was feeling lonely, and in his line of less-than-honourable work sometimes it was necessarily to turn on the old charm and bed someone – man or woman- to get appropriately close to whatever treasure they had tucked away. He’d cultivated his entire career on knowing how to say the right thing at the right time, drawing people into his confidence until he was ready to take whatever it was he coveted.

Along that line, he’d initially sought out Redd’s company for the express intention of gathering the initial information of the inner ministrations of the mansion; he looked easier to extract information from than his brick-shithouse of a brother. Naturally this progressed to having a captive audience for showing off his skills, someone to impress as he sliced through the secrets of the mansion like a shark through water. But that early want for an audience became genuinely seeking Redd’s company, enjoying his good humour and willingness to join him in his escapades.

And indeed Redd seemed rather willing now, though in the interest of propriety, and because the poor fellow would likely be just as exhausted as he felt, Greyson had decided against walking him back to his room. Instead, they’d parted with a kiss, and a promise to see each other the next day. It was quite sweet, really, though Greyson hoped that Redd had something more salacious in mind than an intimate friendship.  

* * *

 

 _The Sexy Brutale_ awoke to a new day. The party was officially over, its hedonistic mystique cultivated for the select few fading seamlessly into business as usual as the casino and bar filled with its usual patrons. Deep beneath the mansion the staff busied themselves with their shifts; rooms were impeccably cleaned, bars restocked, until all memory of what transpired existed only in the recollections of those present.

Greyson awoke late, feeling rather recovered, well-rested, and with a newfound sense of purpose. The momentary melancholy of the night before seemed all rather silly, now that he’d slept and was feeling rather positive about everything. Dwelling on the past was completely unnecessary; it made far better sense to look towards the future. Redd should be back at work today, working the evening shift down at the casino, if he remembered correctly. He’d go pay him a visit a little later on, seduce him. It’s what Redd seemed to want, after all, and who was _he_ to deny him that?

But first, breakfast – or rather, a very late lunch if the clock was anything to go by. He sauntered through the _Brutale_ , keeping a weather-eye out for the Marquis. Not that it particularly mattered; Lucas was too much like him, unlikely to see the problem as nothing terrible had actually happened, but Greyson had told Redd that he would have a stern word, and he felt like keeping his promise. There was, however, no such luck; despite the advanced hour, the bastard was nowhere to be seen, probably still nursing a hangover. In fact, the mansion was extremely quiet in general; he barely ran into anyone as he made his way down to the kitchen. Admittedly, it was like this last year too – the day after the grand celebrations often were as quiet as a cemetery- but there was something about the deserted halls that was quite unnerving. He was used to the general milling about of people, music playing from the various gramophones dotted around, or the odd raucous cry from folk winning- or losing- a fortune. He hoped the casino and bar were faring a bit better, if for no other reason than it would keep Redd entertained until he got there.

As he was about to ride the gilded elevator down to the basement he glimpsed Willow Blue exiting the library, looking thoughtful as she flipped through an overly dusty and ancient-looking book.

Of all the people he’d expected to run into as he left Redd’s room the night before, after all of that horror in the Theatre and Redd’s spontaneous confession, she’d not even made his list. There was a rumour flying around that she had some supernatural gift; the ability to see the future, or speak to the dead or some other nonsense, and she did nothing to dispel them, what with her melancholy demeanour, dull clothes and morbid interest in the grotesque. Regardless, magic skill or not, she’d picked up on his frustrations and offered to lend an ear, despite evidently being on her way to bed. He’d taken her up on the offer, leading her to a tiny, tucked away bar where they would be far away from any eavesdroppers.

She’d been a surprisingly attentive and compassionate listener as he’d selectively unburdened some of what had transpired that night, more talking _at_ her than _to_ her. But, it was enough to get his thoughts in order, return to talk to Redd once more, and, well, the evening had dramatically improved after that. 

“Willow!” He called, waving to her in greeting; she looked up from her book, momentarily distracted before smiling at him.

“Good afternoon, Greyson,” she said, her voice pleasant, softly-modulated with her thick New Orleans accent. “I hope your night got better.”

“You could say that,” he flashed her a winning smile, ignoring that she didn’t seem to be looking straight at him, instead focussing slightly over his left shoulder.

“You certainly seem happier; I’m glad it all worked out. Are you heading to the casino?”

“Later. I’m absolutely ravenous.”

She paused for a moment, as if listening, though Greyson didn’t hear anything except the faint sound of singing. Willow nodded, a small smile gracing her lips.

“I won’t keep you from sating your appetite. Have a good evening, when it comes around.”

He watched her go, eyebrows knitted at her strange turn of phrase. What an odd woman.   

Greyson didn’t dawdle in the kitchen; he wanted to have plenty of time to get ready, and so grabbed a few bits from the larder before returning to his room. It wasn’t as though he didn’t usually put effort into his appearance - people tended to trust a well-spoken and well-dressed man - but tonight he felt he needed to go the extra mile. As he went through the extensive procedure of oiling and curling his beard he laughed to himself; he’d never before worried about dressing up for Redd, but there was a definite twisting in his stomach at the thought of not presenting his best side tonight. It was almost like dressing for the masquerade all over again, though he was glad not to wear that dreadful mask. He didn’t even know where the bloody thing was… he’d left it in the theatre, hadn’t he? One of the staff probably picked it up. Well, they could burn it for all he cared.

He checked himself in the mirror, preening as he turned this way and that. Every image a gentleman; the sort of upstanding fellow you could trust with, if not your life, then definitely your money. Unquestionably enough to impress. A quick drink – Springbank Whiskey, his tipple of choice - for some Dutch courage and he was finally prepared.

Glancing at the ornate pocket watch he realised that Redd would be in the middle of his shift by now. It wouldn’t hurt to go down a little early. In any case, he planned to head to the bar first; he could do with a tad more alcohol to loosen his tongue, aid his wit, before subjecting Redd to it.

* * *

 

Greyson spotted Redd’s familiar form, muscular and broad shouldered, as soon as he entered the casino; he was usually eye-catching in that he rather loomed over his table, but this evening he was on full form. He was in the middle of an elaborate shuffle to a small yet captivated audience, mixing together one deck after another in readiness for _Baccarat_ , shifting hundreds of cards in a long waterfall, from one outstretched hand to another. Music filtered from the bar, a vibrant Jazz record courtesy of Miss Tequila Belle herself, adding to the spectacle. For all he often proclaimed he had no rhythm, Redd was seemingly finding it now; his deft hands moved to the swing beat of the music, the cards flowing as they were shuffled together, cut, fanned around his thumb, and shuffled again.

He finished with a card spring flourish coinciding with the end of the song to a round of polite applause.        

Greyson took a sip of his drink, ready to start a show of his own. He meandered over to the table, ignoring the other guests, and resting a casual hand on Redd’s shoulder. Redd turned his head at the touch, his expression set in a slight frown at the contact before realising who’s hand it was.

“Can I expect a similar performance later on, or are you only this flashy for your patrons?” Greyson asked with a smirk, which widened in satisfaction as he saw a hint of pink beginning to rise in Redd’s cheeks.

“Just like I said to you on your first day here: it all depends on how you play your hand,” Redd said, his voice playful, welcoming. He shuffled the cards one last time, placing the decks in a neat stack next to him.

“I don’t think you’ll have any complaints,” Greyson said with a wicked smile, “I’m at the top of my game.”

“I’m expecting recklessness as you throw all caution to the wind.”

“Nonsense! My skills are both consummate and well-practiced. I’ll show _you_ a thing or two.”

“I’m not sure I _want_ to learn your particular skills.”

“ _Au contraire,_ my good man; once you sample them, I’m positive I can convince you otherwise.”

There was an impatient cough from one of the patrons and Greyson watched as Redd’s professionalism took over, his slightly flirtatious expression perceptibly changing to suave politeness.

“We should begin. Greyson, would you be joining me this evening?”

“I think I might,” he said as he rounded the table, his voice low and quiet enough for only Redd to hear, “but first we should play cards.”

Midnight rolled around to the distinctly ominous chimes of the gilded bell, and Redd began to dismantle his station. His few remaining guests filtered away, looking to find another game, or to retire for the night. Greyson stayed where he was seated, leaning forward on the baize. He’d run to a loss, of course, but that didn’t matter. He considered the sunk cost an investment.

“You are an absolute beast,” Redd said as he sorted through the mixed decks of cards, splitting them out with a practiced movement.

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” Greyson grinned before downing the last of his drink, his trained eye taking in the little details. Redd’s excitement for what was to come – or perhaps, his nerves – was almost painfully evident, barely perceptible tells that accumulated into a rather obvious beacon to his eagerness; the tremor in his hands as he sorted through the cards, the flush in his cheeks, his smile so wide that he could barely keep it contained.

“You spent the entire evening making sure to weave innuendo into every single sentence!”

“Did I? Are you sure it’s not just you? Because I’ve no idea how you’ve managed to interpret _anything_ I said as anything other than friendly banter.” Greyson flashed him another smile; Redd returned it, their eyes meeting.

“No? Really? How else was I supposed to interpret “I can see you’re impressed with the size of it”?”

“I was merely talking about my wager. We _were_ playing cards.”

“Your hands might have been, but I suspect _you_ had a very different intent.”

“Perhaps I’ll demonstrate exactly what my hands can do.” Greyson grinned, raising one eyebrow. “And my intent. So, how about it? Do I get you have you now?”

“I think you owe me a drink,” Redd said as he glanced up from clearing away his station, placing his evening’s takings in the nearby safe. Through force of habit, Greyson watched the lightning speed of Redd’s hands as he turned the dial left and right. He already knew the code, of course, and last night’s more noteworthy takings would already in a more secure location in Lucas’s office by now, but old habits die hard.

“Of course.” Greyson waved his hand, “I wouldn’t dream of seducing you without proper lubrication.” 

“I always imagined seduction was a subtler art.”

“And I find sometimes you just need to go out with a bang.”

Redd laughed, picking up his jacket.

“Shall we?”

“Bang? If you insist.”

He led Redd out of the casino and into the bar; the swing music emanating from the gramophone was sultry, alluring. It must be that part of the night. Indeed, in line with the quieter vibe of the evening, the few guests already stationed here had less of a party attitude, and instead were huddled together, whispering close.  

Redd gravitated towards a corner booth, deep in the shadows away from prying eyes. Greyson headed up to the bar to sort their drinks. He settled for a shot apiece; they wouldn’t be staying here long.

“So were you enjoying yourself?” he asked as he placed the drinks onto the table, each a heady mix of gin, whiskey and, as this was _What’s Your Poison?_ the obligatory hint of venom.

“You know I was,” Redd said with a grin. “I don’t think you would have been so brazen if you didn’t.”

Greyson slid next to Redd, sitting close enough that their knees touched; a deliberate move that seemed to be directly responsible for Redd’s blush.

“You know, Redd, I would have put good money on you holding a torch for Miss Belle.”

“I told you before; there was never anything going on between me and her.”

“I know you did, I just didn’t believe you, on account of you being absolutely terrible at lying.”

“Well, it wasn’t that part I was trying to keep from you.” Redd said, with a shrug. “I was being completely honest about that bit.”

“True, true” Greyson nodded, “but I still can’t quite believe that you, ahem, “bat left-handed”, as it were. You have so many admirers… and, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look the type.”

Redd paused, looking thoughtful.

“I’ve… suspected for a while, but it’s never been an issue. Until now, anyway. Clay always said it was because I’d not found the right girl.”

“I can tell you, with all confidence, that if you’re interested in _me_ then you aren’t interested in girls.”  

“No. I can’t imagine a woman with your looks.”

“They can’t pull off the beard.” Greyson said, stroking a hand through the curls for emphasis.

Redd laughed.

“I consider _that_ a good thing. You know, you have no idea how relieved I was to find you had a similar fancy to me.”

“I’ve had various experiences, yes. I wasn’t joking when I said I could show you a thing or two,” he grinned.

“I’m pretty sure I know how everything works, thank you. I have it myself, after all.”

“Oh, trust me, my dear fellow, it’s like cracking a safe. Every lock is different, every code unique. It takes a deft and skilled hand to get someone else’s to effortlessly unlock.” Greyson nudged his shoulder. “And, luckily for you, I give lessons… if I’m in a generous mood.”

There was a definite pause.

“Indeed?” Redd picked up his drink and tentatively sipped it.

With a confident, deliberate movement Greyson gently slid his hand under the table to rest on Redd’s knee. He felt Redd jump at the touch, a small noise in his throat as he almost choked on his drink. He gave him a reassuring squeeze, before running a knuckle up the inside of his thigh, stopping _just_ short.

He met Redd’s eye, flashing him a smile. The anticipation was palpable; Greyson could feel Redd’s keenness, desire clear in his eyes. He picked up his previously-ignored shot and knocked it back, feeling it burn like fire down his throat.

“Let’s not dawdle here too long. Shall we continue this in my room?”

* * *

 

He’d never invited Redd here before; not because of some link to his privacy or anything so profound, but instead simply because there were so many other more interesting places in _the Sexy_ _Brutale_ to explore instead. And now, there was Redd’s room too, which had the added bonus of having Redd in it.

In the interest of showing off, and to cement a point, Greyson opened his door using his lockpicks instead of his key. It swung open without any resistance. Redd rolled his eyes.

“What?” Greyson asked, rocking on his feet as he stood aside to let Redd enter.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

Greyson closed the door behind them, watching with slight amusement as Redd seemingly ignored the large bed, and instead peered around his room, taking in the modest décor, the slightest flicker of his eyes as he noticed the conspicuous gaps of recent plans deliberately discarded. Redd was no fool, but, they weren’t here to relive the horrors of that failed heist.

He didn’t want to give him the opportunity to start worrying, overthinking a situation long since passed, and had no bearing on where they were right now. He took a step forward and placed his hand on Redd’s face, long fingers caressing his cheek, noting how his face almost instantly lost its serious expression.

Greyson guided him down into a surprisingly chaste kiss; Redd’s eyes fluttered closed as their lips pressed together, their tongues touching, eliciting a soft, breathy moan. The move was fluid, easy. Greyson smiled to himself as Redd pulled him closer of his own accord, pressing their bodies together, his strong arms wrapping around Greyson’s waist as they kissed.

There was a time for passion and unbridled desire; this wasn’t it, instead, they settled into a tender give-and-take. Gentle, following a silent rhythm, each seeking dominance momentarily before yielding to each other. Greyson tangled his fingers in Redd’s hair before tracing down the nape of his neck, enjoying how he shivered at the touch. 

“Christ, you can kiss…” Greyson murmured against Redd’s mouth. Redd grinned, sheepishly.

“Thank goodness. I mean, you too.”

From where their bodies were touched Greyson could feel a definite hardness pressed against his hip. They could keep things as they are, all quite tame, kissing and whatnot… or he could push things, see how far Redd’s desires truly went. With a casual shift of his hand he brushed Redd’s groin through his trousers.

“God, Grey…” Redd whispered with a gasp. Greyson felt a shiver tingle down his spine at the words as he continued his gentle caress. Redd moaned, resting his forehead against Greyson’s, his breathing becoming ragged, his pulse quickening. He hadn’t pulled away, told him to stop. Good. Greyson kissed him once more, his hand continuing to stoke as he captured Redd’s lips with his, firmer this time, nipping and sucking his lower lip. “Ah…”

Greyson looked up into Redd’s blue eyes. Good lord, he was tall.

“I think, my fellow, we should continue this in bed.”

Redd mutely nodded, a blush high on his cheeks, reluctantly letting go of Greyson’s waist as for a brief moment they parted. Greyson undressed, swiftly stripping his clothes, unconcerned about his nudity. He was aware of Redd watching him, still largely clothed having only removed his sweater in the same amount of time.

“Something the matter?” Greyson asked, laying the discarded garments on the back of a chair, deliberately turning to face him, watching in satisfaction as Redd’s eyes drifted downwards. He unsubtly struck a pose, daring him to look.

“Not at all,” Redd said, absently licking his lips.

“It’s just, you know, people usually undress for this part.” Greyson said, amused, gesturing to Redd’s clothed state.

“So that’s where I’ve been going wrong,” Redd said, returning his grin with a self-depreciating smile, his cheeks a deep red, though it was unclear at this point if it was due to embarrassment or arousal. He began to unbutton his shirt, his shaking hands fumbling, before the starched fabric fell open to expose his pale, bare chest.

Greyson took a decisive step forwards and helped pull his shirt over his shoulders, partly wanting to see more of him, and partly wanting him to hurry the hell up. He casually let his fingers draw over his skin, the touch deliberately light, delicate. He felt incredibly satisfied when Redd shuddered, almost flinching, as if his touch evoked a small shock.

He took Redd’s shirt from him and laid it over the same chair as his own, leaving Redd to sort out his own trousers. Redd paused once more, clearly uncomfortable of going any further. Greyson raised an eyebrow.

“Redd, after all this time I’ve known you, I never thought you were _shy_. Reserved, certainly, and maybe a touch prudish, but Jesus Christ.”

Redd grinned at him, shaking his head.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just a little out of my depth.” He finally disrobed, leaving his trousers in a puddle on the floor. Despite his interest in preserving his modesty, the thin fabric of his underwear left little to the imagination. “In any case, you’re distracting.”

Greyson could have said the same. Anyone could see Redd was a fine, well-formed young man; he had enough admirers in the _Brutale_ to attest to that, but what was surprising was the amount of definition he had under his rather frumpy and old-fashioned wardrobe. Greyson bit his lips at the sight of his strapping chest, his thighs thick with muscle, and the most obvious indication to his desire.

“I’m glad you like what you see.”

Taking a step towards him, Greyson ran his hand down his neck, over his pectoral muscles, before settling on his fingertips caressing his stomach. Redd visibly shuddered at the touch before leaning forward, gripping his shoulders as he kissed him once more, this time with intense urgency as their tongues intertwined. Without the barrier of their clothing Redd’s skin felt red-hot against his; he could feel his racing heartbeat, the definite beat of his pulse. With more decisiveness than before, Greyson gently stroked Redd’s cock through his underwear, hearing him moan into his mouth at the contact, the grip on his arms growing momentarily tighter.

If he continued on at this rate, they’d never make it to bed.  

Greyson broke away from the kiss and took Redd’s hand in his, leading him decisively to his large double bed. With a gentle push on his shoulder, he guided Redd to lie back on top of the thick duvet. Propping himself up on one arm, Greyson began kiss the side of his neck, pressing his tongue against Redd’s pulse.

“Oh my god…” Redd groaned, caressing Greyson’s back, stroking, caressing him, encouraging him to continue.

In a smooth movement Greyson’s free hand slipped inside Redd’s underwear, his hand wrapping around his cock, gripping the hard, hot flesh. Redd flinched, a gasp in his throat at the sensitive touch. With a bit of manoeuvring Greyson helped him discard that last garment, Redd naked beneath him.

“For the record, Redd, you have no reason to be shy.”

Redd didn’t say anything – he seemed a bit beyond words – but he let out a soft laugh before it turned into a moan under Greyson’s caress.  

Greyson kissed down Redd’s body; coordinating his kisses with the rhythm of his hand. Redd’s breathing was coming in soft pants now; he closed his eyes, groaning, leaning back into the pillow. His blue eyes cracked open a sliver; frowning when he saw Greyson grinning at him.

“What?” he breathed, trying to focus.

“Nothing, nothing…. You’re eager, is all. No no, don’t look at me like that, it’s a _good_ thing.” Greyson laughed at Redd’s indignant expression.

“… you’re… oh god… laughing at me.”

“Not at all. I just get the impression that you are rather inexperienced.”

Before Redd could answer Greyson dipped his head and his mouth replaced his hands, his lips wrapping around the head of Redd’s cock, sliding down the length. Redd’s hips bucked and he gasped, moaning as he started to involuntarily thrust. Greyson pinned his hips to the bed, preventing to movement but doing nothing to silence his moans, and began to suck, sliding his lips up and down the length, making it hot and wet with saliva.

“Grey…Grey I… oh god…!” Redd’s groans sent a reciprocal shiver through his body as he continued to work his mouth, his tongue, feeling every pulse, every flinch. Redd was biting his lip, groaning as his legs trembled, his hands clenching and unclenching to Greyson’s rhythm. 

Greyson glanced up at him, taking in how his face contorted with bliss, his muscles tense and shaking. His previous nervousness seemed to have complete evaporated.

It didn’t take long – there was a sudden swelling of his cock, a surge as Redd gasped, his head pressed back in his pillow, his hands gripping the sheets as he came. His breathing ragged, he was almost panting as he fought for breath.

Greyson bit back a comment about stamina, settling, instead, on grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“Oh my god…” Redd breathed, his heartbeat still racing.

Greyson pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth, thrilled at how it was being reciprocated, Redd incredibly passionate despite the lethargy of the afterglow. His arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he kissed him with such fervour, their tongues interlacing, before Greyson felt himself effortlessly lifted, rolled onto his back in a single, strong movement.

Redd kissed down his body, echoing what Greyson had done, his stubble rasping against Greyson’s skin as he kissed down his neck, his chest, ending just above his navel. Perhaps encouraged, or perhaps not quite as inexperienced as Greyson teased, Redd hesitantly reached down and curled his fingers around his cock, trying to find the right tempo and firmness of grip.

Greyson moaned, encouraging, allowing his eyes to flutter closed at the touch. The entire evening had been incredibly erotic; his earlier thought about mocking Redd was coming back to haunt him as he felt his own arousal began to peak incredibly, embarrassingly, quickly. 

“Ah… Redd… if you’re not careful…” he warned, his voice low, raspy. “…fuck … you’re going to…!”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Redd said, mischievous, before leaning up and pressing an off-centre kiss to Greyson’s lips. Greyson was momentarily distracted, but felt Redd’s hand increase in speed, bringing his attention immediately back to his groin. He felt lost in his touch; the deftness and dexterity used for both the piano and cards were being put to incredible use, his touch gentle and precise, driving him ever closer to climax.  

“Yes… but… oh my god, Redd!”

The rush of Greyson’s own orgasm was mounting against that inexperienced touch, making him groan deep in his throat. To stop his hands from flailing he gripped Redd’s thick brown hair, trying to find an anchor against the pleasure.

“Redd… Redd…!” he moaned as he came, his hips bucking against Redd’s hand. Letting go of his hair, his hands instead gripped Redd’s arm, feeling the outline of his bicep as he held on for what felt like dear life as he rode out the last of his orgasm. 

“Something like that?” Redd asked, his expression tender despite his teasing words.

Greyson responded by raising his head off of the pillow, kissing him deeply before falling back on the mattress with a satisfied sigh. His heart was thrashing in his chest still, but his breathing was beginning to slow as a familiar wave of tiredness flowed through him.

He felt Redd settle next to him on the bed, lying by his side; he pulled him close before resting his cheek on his broad chest. Instinctively Redd’s arm snaked around his waist, resting his hand on his hip as their legs intertwined.

“Exactly like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Greyson awoke early in the morning with the somewhat unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across his waist, a heavy leg laid over his. Curled around his body Redd was warm with sleep, his breathing slow and measured. Being held like this, dozing in Redd’s arms, was far more comforting and soothing than it had any right to be. He smiled to himself; a week ago he wouldn’t have given the possibility of this scenario a second thought. Life does that sometimes, he supposed; it just drops the most surprising treasures into one’s lap.

Careful as to not wake him, he pulled Redd a little closer, resting a hand on his arm.

Through a chink in the curtains sunlight filtered into the room, dust motes dancing in the air. He glanced at the clock; Redd wasn’t due to start his shift for hours. They could have a relaxing morning together, and maybe he would make good on his promise of teaching him a thing or two, give Redd more than the little taste of what he could expect from being entangled with someone like him.

This complicated things, of course. It would be much harder to just up and leave now, unless he wanted the hurt it would invariably cause to weigh on what was left of his conscience. Redd didn’t seem the type, somehow, to be content with just a casual dalliance. Hell, he’d even said that he was _in love_ with him, a far cry from the usual declaration of lust of someone swept up in the hedonistic rush of alcohol, gambling and no-strings sex. And in all fairness, he’d all but told Redd to continue with his infatuation. Told him he wanted him around, that he _would_ return his feelings. Of course, he’d invited Redd here to further that aim, partly to give Redd what he’d asked for, and partly to satisfy his own desires as part of his seduction.

He’d actually been rather relieved that Redd had responded so positively to everything he’d subjected him to the previous evening, even if he was a little reluctant to get out of his clothes, poor chap. Not that he thought that his shameless use of _double entendre_ would miss the mark, or that Redd would be averse to the odd kiss and caress; the worry was that he’d bolt at the last minute once they reached his room, overthinking the potential danger he would be in if anyone were to find out about the carnal side of their relationship.

He rolled onto his back, slightly untangling himself from Redd’s embrace, and settled into the cool pillows and soft bed linen. From his new position he could see Redd properly; he seemed so peaceful, his features relaxed, unbothered by the morning light shining on his face. Greyson idly wondered who else had seen him like this; not many, if Redd’s earlier admission was anything to go by.

Redd stirred, seemingly missing the warmth Greyson’s body pressed against his.

“Good morning,” Greyson said, his voice low, not wanting to disturb the peace of the morning.

“’mornin’…” Redd muttered, before opening his eyes, staring at him bewildered as he blinked owlishly. Greyson swept a stray lock of Redd’s hair aside, his fingers gently brushing his cheek.

“Don’t tell me you forgot you stayed here last night?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“No…” Redd said, grinning sheepishly as he propped himself up on his arm. “How could I forget that?”

“Well, I don’t want to brag-“

“You don’t? That’s news to me.”

Greyson laughed softly.

“I was just commenting on how rather surprised you looked.”

“Try astonished instead. I can’t believe we did that last night. I’m was just making sure it wasn’t a dream.”

“Aren’t you the charmer? No wonder you’re so popular down at the casino.” 

Redd shook his head with a smile.

“I mean it. I can’t believe this is real,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

Greyson leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to Redd’s lips, enjoying how Redd hummed in pleasure before returning the sentiment with a bashful smile. Greyson cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss with a gentle touch of his tongue, shivering in delight as Redd’s hand traced up his back, caressing his skin. Greyson felt the stirring of Redd’s awakening arousal pressing into his hip, confirming that last night wasn’t a fluke, or a mere responses to an evening of teasing. He didn’t even consider the possibility of tactfully ignoring it; under the covers he slid his hand over Redd’s thigh, his hip bone, trailing towards his groin. Redd inhaled sharply as Greyson’s hand rested in his lap.

“It feels pretty real to me,” Greyson said with a teasing grin, curling his fingers around the growing hardness, feeling satisfied as it grew and swelled against his palm as he stroked the shaft with small, fleeting movements. There was no point in being too heavy handed, nor too urgent; he wanted to draw this out, make everything last longer than the frantic release of the night before.

“Mmm… it feels so different with your hands…” Redd murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as he laid back into the bed, enjoying the touch.

“I told you, I know what I’m doing.”

“Ah… are you insinuating I don’t?” Redd cracked his eyes open, raising his eyebrow, smirking.

“No, no, you did perfectly fine last night. But you of all people know that practice makes perfect.”

“I’d be more than happy to practice with you.”

“That’s lucky, because I was thinking the same thing.”

Redd moaned, leaning back into the bedcovers. Greyson nuzzled against the side of his neck and brushed his skin with a kiss. “So, what would you like me to do?”

“Surely there’s only one way to do this?”

“There are variations, old boy, and I want to know if there is something you particularly enjoy.” His hand moved faster, tightening his grip, feeling satisfied when he heard a catch in Redd’s breath.

“What you did last night… with your mouth…” Redd trained off with a groan. Greyson pushed the bedcovers away, exposing their skin to the freshness of the morning, but also allowing him space to slide down the bed unconstrained. He caressed his legs, urging his thighs apart for him to nestle between them. Redd obliged the movement, propping himself up on the pillows, his cheeks flushed.

Greyson lowered his warm, wet mouth onto the swollen head of Redd’s cock. Redd groaned, a low tremor in his throat; Greyson held him firmly in place, his hands gripping Redd’s hips, stroking his skin.  

As he drew his cock in deeper, his tongue nudging the sensitive point near the head, Redd’s hands dropped helplessly, balling into fists as they gripped the linen of the sheets, his pleasure was finding voice in breathy little grunts, escalating into soft moans. Greyson took control, relishing in how easily he made Redd lose his own restraint, but this was a far cry from the hunger of the night before. Now he could take his time, bring Redd closer and closer to that final ecstatic spasm, but not quite, holding him as close to the edge as he dared. The sounds he was making were delightfully encouraging; with each gasp and moan Greyson felt his own body respond, his own arousal building, manifesting as delightful shivers, awaiting the encouragement of touch.

"Ah... oh my god... Grey.... I'm-" Redd groaned, signalling his imminent orgasm, a deep sound rumbling in his chest as his muscles began to tense. Before that final moment, Greyson released him, sitting back on the covers with a wicked smile as Redd let out a strangled gasp of want and need.  
  
“What… you’ve stopped…?” Redd said, almost incoherently.

“I don’t want you to finish just yet.” Greyson smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips, allowing him a moment to regain his composure. Redd kissed back hungrily, catching Greyson’s lip in his teeth.

Greyson pulled away, stroking down Redd’s chest to his groin, purposely ignoring his wet, aching cock as it strained over his stomach.

"Please..."

“I don’t want it to be over too soon, and if I continued, it would be.”

“You’re enjoying tormenting me like this…”

“You do look rather delightful, my fellow, I’ll admit… but…” he leaned forward, and with needless dramatic flair he whispered in his ear: “I want you to fuck me.”

“I… pardon?” Redd paused, thrown by the bluntness of the request, trying to focus with the one-tenth of his brain that was still functioning. 

“I _really_ can’t say it any plainer.”

“I… yes….but…” Redd blushed, at a loss for words.

“I thought you knew how everything worked?” Greyson asked, grinning at him. “And just in case you don’t: I kind of need you to be hard for the next bit. It would be counterproductive for me to get you off beforehand.”

“Grey…”

Greyson relished the reprimand, but saw genuine uncertainty in Redd’s face, his brow furrowed in a frown. He allowed his expression to soften. 

“What’s wrong? You seem suddenly out of sorts. I will teach you, you know.”

“It’s nothing. I just… I thought you’d want to do that to _me_.”

“I do. Don’t get me wrong, I do. And if you want it, then I’ll happily oblige. But right now, I’d much rather it be this way.”

“What if I hurt you? You know I haven’t exactly had much practice.”

“Don’t overthink it; it’s not difficult, and it’s something I enjoy.”

Greyson kissed him once more, trying to pull him out of his thoughts. He shivered at the feeling of Redd’s hand holding the back of his neck, fingers lacing through what was left of his hair.

Greyson’s hand slipped between Redd’s thighs and gripped the hard flesh, careful not to drive him too close to the edge, but nevertheless enjoying the moan it elicited. Redd’s tongue probed his mouth, his tongue seeking his, full of desire and a willingness to please.

“Oh my god,” Redd gasped into their kiss. "Grey... please..." 

Greyson sat back on his knees, pulling the covers completely away to give them space to move. Redd seemingly also took the moment to regain some of his composure. As he reached to his dresser and fished around for a bottle of oil specifically there for this purpose, he became aware of Redd watching him. 

“A gentleman should always be prepared,” he said with a wink. He poured some of the clear liquid into the palm of his hand before tossing the bottle to Redd, who deftly caught it. “Here you go; you’ll need this.”

“Thanks. You know, Grey, every time you state you’re a gentleman, I believe you less.” Redd did the same, before gently rubbing his cock, gasping at the coolness as he spread the slickness over the taut, hot skin.  

“Probably for the best, really. Do you need any help with that?” Greyson asked, satisfied at his own preparation, gesturing to Redd’s notably light touch.

“Oh god, no. I feel like I could go at any moment. If _you_ touch me…”

Greyson didn’t say anything; instead, he got himself comfortable, settled against the mass of pillows, his hips raised. Redd seemed determined, a serious expression on his face as he leaned over him. Greyson rested a hand on his broad shoulder.

“Redd, look at me. It’s not a sombre event, not an elegant dance you can mess up. Trust me; relax.”

“If you say so…”

Redd’s cock was hot and slippery against his inner thigh. Not letting him pause, Greyson reached down between their bodies and helped guide him.

“Oh… oh god, Grey…” Redd rested on his hands, motionless, gasping and quivering. Greyson bit his lip, his face feeling hot as Redd pushed deep inside him. Hot, hard, incredibly intense.

“Move… move your hips” Greyson instructed, his voice raspy and low.

“If I move, I’ll…” Redd trailed off, his expression one of pure concentration.

“Redd, move… please…” he murmured, rocking his hips, pushing against him. Redd’s shuddered, his thick, hard cock surging forward in response. “Redd… fuck… move…!”

“God, Grey…” Redd whispered, “I can’t hold on for you. I…” he began to thrust, sharp jerks of his hips, rapidly deepening, driving Greyson closer, delicious tension mounting higher and higher, to his climax.

“Yes… oh fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ …” he squeezed Redd’s shoulder, his entire body shaking. 

Redd bowed his head, moaning as he came, his body shuddering and spasming, losing his stoke as he trembled. Greyson reached down to his own cock; a few firm strokes and he felt a static fill his body as his orgasm came suddenly, a deep, dark burst of release, spattering his midriff with an arc of white.

With shaking limbs Redd sank down onto the bed. Greyson found himself pulled into an embrace, feeling Redd fighting for breath as he held him close to his chest.

Moments passed, the only sound being the rhythmic ticking of the clock and their breathing slowing to a regular pace. They both said nothing for a while, both content to lie there, languid and relaxed.

After a while Redd seemed to snap out of his doze with low, contented sigh. Greyson took the opportunity to change position, preventing his arm from going numb, before settling his head on Redd’s shoulder, idly running a finger over his chest.

“That felt incredible,” Redd said. “But you were wrong about not messing it up. I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. Not wrong at all; I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“You’re being too kind.”

“For once, I’m being honest.” 

Redd didn’t say anything, but he still looked rather unconvinced. Greyson nuzzled his cheek into Redd’s chest. “I mean it. It’s definitely something I’d want to do again.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yes.”

“I think… I’d like to try it too. For you to do it to me. I have a feeling you'll do better.”

“I would be more than happy to indulge you there. But not right now.”

“God no. I don’t want to move.”

For a while they dozed for a bit, enjoying the warmth of the morning, their limbs tangled together in lethargic bliss. 

Eventually the silence shifted from sleepy to pensive, begging to be filled with conversation.

“So, Redd, how did you end up working here? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you,” Greyson said, breaking the quietness between them.

“Hmm? Nothing exciting, really. I needed a job out of university, a croupier position was open, and Clay was already working here as a bouncer so he could vouch for me.” Redd paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, this was when he worked for Lafcadio, back when this place was the Devil’s Own, but it’s the same thing.”

“That seems like an odd career choice for a gentleman such as yourself. When I met you, I was surprised you weren’t with me on the other side of the table.” 

“My family aren’t _quite_ in the same league as the clientele here, but I’m flattered you think we are,” Redd said, giving him a squeeze. “My father owns a factory in Swindon, and so my other option was to move back home and work there… but managing an enterprise like that never really suited me, and in any case I always got the impression that he wanted Clay to follow in his footsteps.”

“Really? He favoured _Clay_ over you?”

“Is that really so surprising? Clay’s older, and has a lot of qualities perfectly suited to run a business like that. I, on the other hand, was the rather overlooked son; the one who wanted to be a musician, but never really had the opportunity nor the ambition to be a soloist, and so settled for being a croupier.”

Greyson bit back an unsavoury comment about Clay’s ability to do anything other than grunt and look menacing. Redd always seemed rather fond of his brother, though he couldn’t fathom out why.

“You play now though- how did you get back into it?”

“The Marquis, for the most part. Once he took over the place he put me back on track, largely by asking me to be Tequila’s regular accompanist. He found out pretty quickly that I could play – he can too, rather beautifully, did you know? – and quite unexpectedly I had unlimited access to the music rooms to practice when I pleased.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t play for Tequila himself, if he’s as good as you say he is.”

“That’s not really his style, though, is it? He won’t be second fiddle to anyone, not even to a world-famous singer. I think it suited him more to watch from the shadows, pleased with himself at what he had created.”

Greyson shook his head. 

“I’m not convinced, to be perfectly honest. From what _I_ know of Lucas, I always figured he loved the limelight too much. At every party he always manages to find himself at the centre of attention.”

“Not that you would know anything about that, would you?” Redd said, with a snort. Greyson playfully shoved him, enjoying how it made him laugh. “So, how do _you_ know him?” Redd asked, “You often speak of him as though you’re old friends.”

“I was running a con in London about ten years ago, just after the end of the War. It wasn’t anything too exciting, an investment scam to capitalise on rich bastards moving their money back into England once it was safe to do so, and he was at the same soiree that I was attending. I had considered him as a mark, but good lord I’m glad I didn’t. He saw through my scam, but instead of calling me out, or shopping me in, he just took me aside and bought me a drink instead.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Is that how Lucas makes friends? Finds the next biggest bastard in the room and buys them a drink?”

Greyson chuckled, running a hand through his beard as he recalled the memory.

“You probably aren’t far wrong. Given who his friends are, I would place good money on that being his main strategy. Anyway. I _distinctly_ remember not trusting him – or his drink- even then, but in hindsight he probably did just find the entire thing funny. He offered to be my partner, and as much as he does have the gift of the gab, he’d be far too much of a liability. I like my threats in front of me.”

“Do you think he would have turned against you?” Redd frowned, his demeanour suddenly serious. 

“Oh, hell no. Not deliberately and _definitely_ not maliciously. But I do think that his ideas would get the better of him and he’d want to turn some subtle ploy into a grand spectacle. I turned him down, but after that I was obliged to be his friend. You don’t want to upset someone like him.”

He caught Redd’s stern mouth, his troubled expression. “Don’t get me wrong; Lucas is a friend. I just like to keep him where I can see him.”

“I’m not sure I trust him.”

“It’s probably a good idea. You see, I’m a scoundrel, and so I know one when I see one _and_ I know how to deal with them. But, as I said before, he didn’t mean us any harm back in the theatre, and what happened was likely a mistake of some kind.”

“I know. But… how could he do that…how on earth did _any_ of it seem like a good idea?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve long since stopped trying to work out what goes through his head. If you feel that strongly about it, you could always bring it up with him.”

Redd shook his head, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Greyson gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“If you won’t, I will. You’re still hurt from it, and I won’t stand for that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Redd seemed surprised, though he looked suddenly pleased. 

“You’re not so much of a scoundrel.” Redd said, with a wan smile.  

“I am, my dear fellow; what I just told you wasn’t even half of it. I have quite the rap sheet.”

“So tell me?” Redd got comfortable amongst the pillows, ready to listen. 

“Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to scare you off.”

“No fear of that; I’m here aren’t I? And can it be really worse than knowing you were running cons since before I went to university?”

Greyson paused, wondering how much to say, how much of the truth to reveal. Redd was waiting patiently, clearly curious but probably wouldn’t push it if he refused. Well, if they were going to pursue something more than a casual affair, it was only fair that he was at least somewhat honest about his history.

“As you can probably tell, I’m not from Lucas’s social standing. Hell, I’m not even from yours. I’ve spent most of my adult life masquerading as a gentleman, smoke and mirrors.”

“I couldn’t tell. I thought you were just one of the regulars here when you first walked in. In fact, I mistook you for The Marquis.”  

“I’m flattered, but it’s all an act. After I met Lucas, though, my fortune changed somewhat. I had much less need to gate-crash posh parties; I could attend in my own right, my name on the guest list. I was meeting fewer crooked businessmen, but more crooked gentry instead: politicians, diplomats, that sort of thing. And it is just as rotten at the top as it is at the middle, let me tell you.”

“I’ve worked here for almost five years. Trust me, I know exactly how bad it can be. We have some men here that I’m almost glad when Clay catches them cheating and half-drowns them in the fountain.”  

“Right. So, I went to this one party, not dissimilar to the ones the Marquis hosts; big manor house, open rooms, lots of posh people prancing around in their finery. Now, the upper crust, they don’t carry money around with them, so pickpocketing and all of those short-term cons are useless; they have their cash _invested,_ and if you get really lucky it’s in items, not stocks and shares. And, well, I know people who can fetch a good price.”

“The Moloch Egg?” Redd asked, his voice quiet, hesitant. Greyson noticed how his eyes flickered around his room.

“No; at this point I had no idea that even existed.” Greyson paused, before leaning over to a drawer in his desk. It took a moment, but eventually he settled back beneath the covers with a small leather-bound diary in his hands. He flicked through the pages before finding a small, grainy photograph. He handed it to Redd.

“There was this one particular gem, a rare yellow diamond, which was taken to Switzerland after the War,” he explained as Redd examined the picture of the stone in question.

“It’s very impressive.”

“The photograph doesn’t do it justice. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I found out early on that the owner of said mansion was a particularly nasty bastard. Apparently he was a good friend to the Austrian imperial family and took a few liberties with that friendship, if you catch my drift. He had a buyer lined up and everything. I decided to do the same to him.”

“Wait, he stole the jewel from them… and you stole it back?” Redd said, handing the picture back. Greyson tucked it between two pages and placed the book back on his desk.  

“It wasn’t exactly difficult; I don’t think he even considered the possibility that someone would do to him what he did to those poor bastards.”

“How did you do it?”

“The usual way. I introduced myself to his mistress, but she gave me the cold shoulder. I went on to introduce myself to his wife, and the information I got from _her_ was absolutely invaluable. All it took was finding the safe he kept it in, cracking the code and I was well away. I sold it to some American buyer. It’s probably been recut by now, but it made me millions.”

He felt Redd flinch, a distinct sense of disapproval coming from him. “What? You aren’t upset that I didn’t return the stone to its rightful owner, are you? That would have been more hassle than it’s worth, _and_ would have implicated me in the theft. I don’t particularly care for a fleeing Austrian imperial family, but I did feel a strong urge to fuck up the plans of a smug self-serving git.”

“No, not that. Just… you are so casual in talking about those women. You… slept with them, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes. People are so malleable when-“ Greyson caught himself before finishing that sentence. Redd looked positively hurt.

“I see.”

“Redd… my history isn’t pleasant. I’ve done things that are downright cruel. And I did say I was a scoundrel. Would you rather I didn’t mention that side of things?”

Redd didn’t say anything, his face slipping into an impassive mask of polite indifference. Greyson had seen it before, down at the casino, when he was faced with a particularly trying patron.

“Redd?” Greyson asked, his voice gentle. When Redd looked at him, he leaned up to a chaste kiss. “What’s on your mind? You know I care about you, don’t you?”

Redd paused, looking vaguely embarrassed at the sentiment.  

“It’s not that. It’s just, we’ve just been intimate together…“

“Look at me? I’m being entirely sincere. I am terribly fond of you. But I can’t pretend my past isn’t what it is. ”

Redd was silent for a moment, before sighing.

“So, what then? What happened to the money?” 

“Okay, so this was about six or seven years ago. I gambled a lot of it away, but some of it is still in savings. In fact, it is that cash that got me where I am now; expensive suits and a well-groomed appearance able to attend these masquerades. It was my biggest heist – everything before and after was much less high profile.”

“Except the Moloch egg.”

Greyson paused. Even after he’d burned everything, that blasted egg still made its presence known, a particularly persistent ghost come back to haunt him.

“… yes, I suppose. You don’t have to keep on mentioning it, you know.”

“Sorry. It is pretty much all you’ve been interested in for the past year. That’s what got you arrested, right? It made the news.”

“Yes, I know. It was a folly really. A year after the diamond nonsense I was still riding the high of that success; I was rich beyond my wildest dreams, suddenly a notable figure in society, attending all of those noble balls and such, and yet… old habits die hard. Those rich bastards, they don’t keep half as good security on their stuff as they think they do.”

“I think I can see where this is going.”

“Probably.” Greyson said, stroking his beard. “I mean, everyone knew about what had happened in Russia, and all of those treasures were suddenly so very _available_ , turning up in private collections all over the place. And how lucky was I, meeting someone who had one of the rarest treasures of all?”

“It was in England? I always thought you stole it overseas.”

“No, it was here. It was such a thrill, too, a challenge unlike anything I’d had before. After all, if I’d managed to steal such a notable diamond, who was this chap to stop me from stealing a porcelain egg?”

“So, what happened?” Redd rolled on his side, propped up on his arm, his expression serious. Greyson cast his mind back, holding his hand to his lips.

“I was drawn to the hunt like nothing else, and wasn’t nearly as careful as I should have been. It was stupid really. I didn’t stop to _think_. I was so caught up in the excitement of the thing. This bastard... he had security systems on top of security systems; locks and alarms and all manner of bespoke safes and whatnot. None of it even slowed me down. Everything seemed to go so _well_. I got past every layer of his security, unlocked every door, every safe, retrieved the egg as expected … but he had two burly fellows waiting for me outside as if he knew that was why I was there…” Greyson paused, looking up at Redd with wide eyes. “I had it in my _arms_ … and I ran smack into them.”

“No talking your way out of that one?”

“You jest, but you aren’t far wrong. After that it was a whirlwind of gaol, courtrooms and then prison. In a way, it was a relief; I didn’t have to worry about anything for a long time, and I had enough money that prison was quite comfortable, to be honest.”

He paused, noting Redd’s sympathetic expression, and puffed out his chest, turning to the arrogance that he was infamous for. “Don’t look so melancholic. I _could_ have picked the lock at any time and waltzed out of there. I _chose_ to stay.”

“…sure.” Redd rolled his eyes, rightfully disbelieving his boast.

“Anyhow, about a year before I was due to be released Lucas showed up, as he is wont to do, swanning into my cell with commiserations, and the news that he’d won a casino and would I mind terribly, once I was free, coming to work for him. I could hardly say no, and the rest, well, is history.”

Redd placed a hand on Greyson's cheek, urging him to turn his head.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did,” he said, leaning into a kiss. 

Greyson smiled, pulling him close, enjoying the warm press of body.

“I didn’t think so at the time, but it did lead me here… so yes, me too.” He returned the kiss, enjoying the sensation of his hands running over his body, reciprocating in kind. Redd’s breathing changed, getting slightly heavier as their tongues touched. Greyson suddenly found himself rolled back into the bed, Redd pressing down on him, feeling pleasantly caught.

“I’m glad I met you. And I meant everything I said in the music room.” Redd blushed slightly, looking suddenly shy.

From the mantelpiece the small clock chimed, and Redd looked up with a disappointed sigh. He'd seemed on the verge to say something else, but decided against voicing whatever was on his mind. 

“I should get ready for work…” he muttered with great reluctance. 

“You’re probably right,” Greyson agreed, though he didn’t quite let go, stroking his hand up into Redd’s hair. “I don’t suppose we have enough time for something quick…?”

Redd grinned at the thought, but shook his head.

“Sorry. I should get going,” he said as he sat up, looking quite unwilling even as he said so .

“Ah well. All good things must come to an end.”

Redd sighed, grudgingly removing himself from the bed. Greyson did nothing to discourage him, figuring that if he _really_ wanted to stay, he would. Instead he watched as he dressed, enjoying the display of Redd’s body before it was covered by his overly casual clothing.

“How would you like me to come find you at the end of your shift?” he asked as Redd pulled his jumper over his head.

“I’d like that a lot. But aren’t you worried that would look suspicious?”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Greyson said, with a shrug. He didn't particularly care if they were found out, but he'd predicted this would be one of Redd's worries. He paused, before turning to his bedside table, rummaging in the drawer. He gestured for Redd to come closer. “Well, this should help in that regard.”

He pressed a small key into Redd’s hand, enjoying the momentary confusion the action caused. “This is for you.”

“What’s this?”

“The key to my room.”


	3. Chapter 3

Greyson casually sauntered through the _Brutale_ , a spring in his step, and a self-satisfied grin plastered over his face. The past twenty-four hours had progressed quite delightfully. Redd was deliciously enthusiastic, if a little unsophisticated in his touch – Greyson hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he was thoroughly enjoying this dalliance. Good lord, how long had it been since he’d been with a man, anyway? He mentally revised his earlier opinion; Redd was not only handsome, but his body was a particularly fine too; he certainly lucked out with his family’s genes. What’s more, whilst Greyson was all for the pursuit of hedonistic pleasures – and both last night and this morning certainly qualified- he’d found an underlying comfort in the tender aftermath as well. Opening up, even in a small way through low conversation and unintentionally candid talk of his history, felt oddly refreshing. He didn’t expect to make a habit of it, but he certainly felt better for Redd knowing that little bit more about him, even if he was a little put out at the more sordid aspects of his methodology.

Arriving at the bar – relatively quiet, though not at all surprising considering it was a Monday afternoon – he pulled up a stool, signalling to the bartender with a curt nod of his head. He was served almost instantly; a venomous mix of whiskey and gin placed in front of him in a lead-glass tumbler.

“No Redd today, Mr Grayson?” the barman asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside him as he took payment.

“Not today. He’s at work until four.”

“I don’t suppose I could request you give him this message, at all?” He produced an envelope from behind the counter, Redd’s name in elaborate cursive on ivory paper. “It’s from Miss Belle, and she was quite insistent it was to be delivered to him at the earliest opportunity.”

“I don’t see why she couldn’t deliver it herself then. But, sure. No problem.” Greyson took it and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. He felt a pang of curiosity, but Redd and Tequila’s letters were often quite dull. He’d flicked through a few of them whilst waiting for Redd in his room once; he had been was both disappointed and, if he had to admit it to himself, quite relieved to find they were mainly idle conversations. There was no reason to suspect this one would be any different. Perhaps she was going back to France, or America, or wherever else she went when she wasn’t at these parties.

France… America… The niggling, invasive thought from this morning came filtering through his good mood as he savoured his drink; the tantalising idea of moving on to the next big thing. He’d managed to successfully kick-start his security business over the past year, which put him in good stead, and, anyway, Lucas owed him big time on account of almost killing him in a freak accident. He pushed the thought aside, holding on to the warmth he was feeling in the aftermath of spending an intimate morning with Redd. He didn’t _need_ to leave, he mused, not yet.

Greyson finished his drink, standing away from the bar in a fluid motion. Perhaps he would play few games at Redd’s table this afternoon, get him appropriately fired up for another evening of lust and exploration. True, he’d said that he wouldn’t wait for him this time, but it wouldn't hurt to put into Redd’s mind the idea of using that key...

He waltzed through to the Casino, suddenly hit with the bright lights and loud music, conspicuous against the relative quiet of the bar. This was more his sort of place; one filled with people getting appropriately drunk and letting their guard down, one sweetly-uttered conversation at a time. Against the brilliantly dazzling backdrop of silk and finery he could see Redd looming over his table. He was hosting Blackjack, and likely as a result of the morning, he seemed to be smiling wider than usual, friendlier to the perfectly tailored guests sat at his table.

He straightened up his tie, confident smirk in place, moving in for the kill.

A large, meaty hand grabbed Greyson’s shoulder before he could approach the table, gripping firm, not allowing him to pull away. He froze.

“Come with me.” Clay said, his voice low and menacing, the signature voice of a bouncer about to rough someone up for cheating. Greyson turned his head, and out of habit, widened his grin. No point in looking guilty before he even knew what he was being accused of. Clay didn’t scare him; he’d had a year to understand how the unrefined thug dealt with miscreants, and while he may not be above acts of violence – in fact, he was quite famous for them- he rarely did so in full view of other patrons. He usually went after his victims in quiet, secluded locations, such as when they went to the bathroom or made to leave the mansion.

“Something the problem?” Greyson asked, his voice measured, overly unconcerned.

“Don’t say anything, and come with me,” Clay reiterated, blue eyes flashing. Greyson shook the hand away and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, puffing out his chest.

“Is this a matter of security? If not, I do have places to be, you know.”

Clay said nothing, though, if possible, his scowl deepened. Greyson was adept at reading people, and Clay looked ready to hurt someone; his jaw was set, a vein was popping out at his temple, and his face was a livid red. As much as he wanted to be contrary and not go with him out of principle, there was a morbid curiosity building in him on what on earth Clay could possibly want, what recent indiscretion had him so utterly annoyed. He was pretty confident he’d done nothing which would warrant this sort of reaction. He wracked his brains, but came up blank. Even all that work he’d done on that wretched Moloch egg was above board, for all intents and purposes; certainly nothing for a mere _bouncer_ to take an interest in.

“Greyson…” Clay warned with a growl, very much indicating that whatever was holding his temper in check was wearing, very, very thin indeed.

With great exaggeration and flair, Greyson bowed before dutifully following, turning on the swagger in the face of a potential issue. Clay rolled his eyes and led the way to the security room, periodically glancing over his shoulder to make sure Greyson hadn’t slipped off. Whenever he did so Greyson smiled brightly at him.

“In here.” Clay barked, unlocking the door with a jangle of keys. To say this was the door to what was supposed to be the heart of the casino, the lock was notably terrible; an antiquated design that could be undone with a hairpin and a steady hand, if one was so inclined. One of the first things Greyson had done when he first started working here was find out how to get into that particular treasure-trove of information; it was almost laughable how easy it had been, and once he was in, he was privy to all manner of codes carelessly written on pieces of paper, just lying around. He kept his mouth shut; Clay would be unlikely to appreciate that particular piece of information right now. 

As Clay held the door open for him Greyson paused, taking an imperceptible breath. Grinning in defence, he entered the deserted room. Clay came in behind him and shut the door; Greyson noted that he didn’t lock it.

“What are you _fuckin’_ playing at?” Clay asked, folding his arms across his chest, his voice low and raspy.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re on about,” Greyson said casually, shifting his weight to one foot.

“Don’t play fucking stupid with me.”

Greyson didn’t say anything, instead he raised his eyebrow, questioning. He took in more details; Clay’s hands balled into fists, the hard look in his eyes. Perhaps he would get punched after all. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come afoul of a security guard, irate groundsman or, indeed, a bouncer.

“I don’t suppose you dragged me here, in front of the patrons of the casino, I might add, because you wanted a little chat? Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I haven’t. I can assure you-“

“Save it”

“For what? You can’t just march me into your office and then not tell me what it is I’ve supposedly done.”

Clay was silent for a moment. Greyson glanced at his pocket-watch in an exaggerated displace of arrogance. “If you have nothing to say, I’ll be on my way. Good aftern-“

“Stay the fuck away from Redd.”

Greyson paused, thrown by the change of track. He recovered quickly, carefully slipping his watch back into his pocket, smirking.

“What? You are joking? Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“I’m fuckin’ serious. Stay away from him. I knew you were fucking _trouble_ from the first moment I met you.”

Perhaps he knew what happened the night of the party. Greyson wasn’t aware of any cameras in that part of the mansion, but that didn’t mean that someone didn’t report back to Clay that’d there’d been trouble.

“If you are referring to what happened down in the Theatre-“

“What happened in the Theatre?!”

Greyson mentally backtracked. He waved his hand, dismissing him.

“Nothing, nothing, just a little malfunction. No one was harmed-“

Clay stood a menacing step forwards. Greyson didn’t move; instead he folded his arms across his chest. He felt as though he was running a con with only half of the pieces in place. Or he’s been partially discovered and he was to work on how to salvage the situation.

“Look, Clay-“

“Mister Rockridge.”

“If you insist.” He paused. “What exactly is the problem? Redd has been invaluable to me over the past year, at Lucas’s request, no less. He has provided me more than adequate support in the discovery and-“ 

“Shut it. You never fucking shut up, do you? I ain’t talking’ about that. And yeah, I ain’t happy that he’s got involved with whatever con you’re running – and wipe that look off your face, I know you’re planning something – but…”

Clay trailed off raking his hand over his shaved head in a startlingly familiar manner. He sighed, the burning anger momentarily subsiding. 

“I know you… are involved with him.”

Greyson gave him a disbelieving look, automatically concocting the lie in his head.

“Nonsense-“

“Before you even fuckin’ start, don’t bother. I listened in to all your talk at the casino yesterday. You weren’t exactly fuckin’ subtle.”

“It was just banter, a bit of fun. You should try it some time.”

“All right, I might have believed that if Redd wasn’t also in your room last night. We heard you.”

A snippet of information filtered back into Greyson’s mind from the depth of his memory. He had one of the guest suites. Clay and his wife – the poor woman – also recently switched rooms to one on the same corridor. He remembered seeing them the morning of the party, heading down to breakfast.

Ah. This could be an issue. He cursed himself for forgetting.

“He came back for drinks. We do socialise outside of work, you know.”

“Not all fucking night you don’t. I saw him leaving your room this morning.”

Greyson looked away, thinking fast, plausible scenarios running past his mind’s eye. He could insist they’d just talked, lost track of time… no, that was no good. No matter how late it was, Redd lived in the same building. No one would believe it.

Well, time to double down.

“And…? Again, what’s the problem?” he asked, meeting Clay’s eye, his gaze hard and unflinching. “Redd is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

Clay look stunned at the admission, before his anger flared once more.

“What?!”

Greyson held his tongue about apparently needing to draw a picture.

“What else can I say? He’s decided this is what he wants-”   

“Wait, are you saying he approached you?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t. But it’s the truth.”  

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the arse. No. He’s too smart for this. And even if he was… that way… There is no way he would have picked _you,_ of all fucking people.”

“Well, aren’t I the lucky chap.” Greyson again stopped himself from pushing any further. As much as he didn’t like Clay – and he was very well aware that the feeling was mutual – it wouldn’t help matters to keep on poking that particular sore spot. Instead, he tried to appeal to the better nature Redd was adamant was there. “Look, if he’s happy, what’s the harm?”

Greyson watched as Clay glanced through the one-way glass, looking at Redd as he showed off shuffling various stacks of cards together, his demeanour cheery, bright.

Clay sighed. It seemed to have worked; Greyson let himself relax slightly. He probably wouldn’t be leaving here with a black eye.

“Let me make myself fucking clear. If you hurt him, I’ll break every bone in your body like the two-bit scoundrel that you are. Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’re honestly threatening me?”

Clay leaned forward, his expression dark, his voice gruff.

“I’m _telling_ you that if he so much as hints you’ve fucked him over, I’ll find you, and when I hold your head under in the fountain out back, I might accidentally do it too hard, and you won’t ever pull out of it. Some poor bastard will have a fucking hard time getting the blood out of the stonework.”

“Right. Are you done?”

“I’m fuckin’ serious. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Greyson walked past Clay to leave, his head held high, though his heart was hammering in his chest. Once he was in the relative safety of the corridor, he let himself take a breath of relief. 

So, Clay knew. He laughed to himself, a humourless chuckle; after he’d tried to be discrete, too. He didn’t particularly care, but he had a feeling that Redd would be horrified to learn that his brother was aware of his preferences. He’d have to tell him, of course, before that brute of a man did so.

“Ah, there you are Greyson, I’m glad I’ve run into you.” Lucas’s deep voice purred behind his ear. Greyson flinched at the sound.

“Lucas! You dog, you startled me!”

“Something the matter, old boy? You don’t usually surprise so easily. Nor are you usually so unaware of your surroundings. Perhaps your edge is dulling, hmm?”

“You know, Lucas, you could say that something has been playing on my mind somewhat, yes.”

“Something we can discuss over drinks, perhaps? I have a feeling we have much to talk about.” Lucas gestured with his arm along the corridor, towards one of his many offices. Greyson cast him a side-eyed look, before his shoulders slumped and he acquiesced to the suggestion. He’d already suffered through one threat; there was nothing Lucas could possibly say which would be worse. 

“Are you well?” Lucas asked, glancing to him as they walked moseyed along through the Casino,

Various guests made to approach, keen to attract the attention of _the_ enigmatic owner of The Sexy Brutale, hesitantly taking a step towards them as they passed by the roulette tables, but a casual shake of Lucas’s head kept them at bay.

“I’m well enough, I suppose.” Greyson said with a shrug.

“You look rather peaky, is all.”

“I’ve just come from an impromptu meeting with Clay. No, sorry, “ _Mister Rockridge_ ” as he insists I call him. You know we don’t see eye to eye.”

Lucas laughed at the imitation of Clay’s rough voice and scowl.

“Ah, yes, he can be quite a stubborn fellow. Well, I hope you managed to settle your disagreement.”

“He’s threatened to crack my head open in the fountain if I mess up, so I imagine I came out of it as well as could be expected.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lucas said with a dry chuckle. "I do prefer it when disagreements are settled like gentlemen." Reaching his office he unlocked the door, using - Greyson was professionally satisfied to see – a far more elaborate key than the usual doors in the mansion. He’d taken on board some of his suggestions, then, and moved away from simple mortice locks or key codes with distinct audio.

Lucas’s office was warm, sunlight pouring in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in a warm summer light. Greyson had been in here before; this was the place most commonly used to count, and initially store, the winnings of the casino. As such, it was lined with heavy-duty decoy safes, and, at his insistence, two of his fort-locks safe boxes for the real takings. If he were running a con, as Clay overtly suggested, this would be one of the places he’d deliberately give a wide berth. This place, along with the little office adjoined to Lucas’s bedroom, were far too risky a target, as tempting as they were.

Lucas poured a decent measure of Macallan’s single malt, proffering the stylised lead-glass with flair. Greyson leaned against Lucas’s desk, and took the offered drink. He idly swirled the liquid around, watching Lucas with perfectly orchestrated ease. He’d feel a hell of a lot more comfortable once he knew exactly what Lucas wanted but that might take a while. Lucas liked playing games, and could be terribly backhanded in his requests; it was important to keep one’s wits about oneself.

In the warmth of the office Greyson forced himself to relax, to smile and be ready for whatever Lucas threw at him.

Lucas smiled, clinking their glasses together in a toast.

“So, my friend, what’s troubling you? Surely not business?”

“No, no, of course not! I’m quite satisfied with my progress in that regard, thank you,” Greyson said, sipping the drink, “in fact, it won’t be too long before that piece of work is completed.”

He was momentarily distracted; this was the bloody good stuff, far better than even the top-shelf liquor he’d pilfered from the wine cellar. Despite himself he took another sip, letting the developing sweetness fill his mouth.

“You’ve found all my secrets? I’m terribly impressed. It seems your skill wasn't exaggerated after all.”

“Most of them,” he said with a wink. “Though you’ll be glad to hear that I haven’t found any of the little treasures you keep in your bedroom. Especially that quite impressive ruby ring. I do have standards, you know.”

Lucas laughed heartily, swigging his drink with little care.  

“Well, I like a man with confidence, and we both know you have that in spades. So, if not business, some aspect of leisure must be the issue. I must say, I’ve not seen you for a few days. Keeping to yourself, are you? Or did you rather overindulge at the masquerade?”

“Unlike you, I don’t make it a habit to drink so much I lose my faculties, and every drink I had that night was well deserved, let me tell you.” He took another leisurely sip, feeling very much the same about this drink. “In fact, what happened at the party is what I rather want to talk to you about. I think you _might_ just know what has rather upset me.”

Lucas’s smile faded a little, before he raised his glass, knocking his drink back as if it were water. Such a waste of fine alcohol.  

“I have an inkling, yes. I take it you weren’t too happy with your little scavenger hunt down in the theatre?”

Greyson nodded, mentally shifting his mind into gear. He’d expected Lucas to have to make him bring up the reason, or continue to play infuriatingly oblivious until it was all but spelled out to him. But he was being surprisingly candid.

“I think I would have been a lot happier if I wasn’t so close to being seriously hurt. What on earth were you thinking, old boy?”

Lucas grinned as he placed his empty glass on the table, pouring himself another.  

“Now _that_ sounds rather unlike you. Whatever happened to the man who attributed such narrow escapes to good luck, and went about his day?”

Greyson paused. He’d wondered that himself.

“I’ve had a lesson in maturity.”

“It sounds like our good friend Redd is rubbing off on you,” Lucas said with a teasing laugh that was altogether far too knowing for Greyson’s liking.

“So? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Well, what do you want me to say? It was all part of the show. You were never in any real danger, my friend. Yes, the spikes were real… but they would never have dropped, no matter how long you were in the cage. Of course, I had to make a few last minute adjustments when I realised you weren’t alone. You could have mentioned that Redd would be joining you, you know.”

“Now that is hardly fair; if you’d have been at breakfast you’d have known.”

“Ah. I had other, more pressing matters to attend that morning. Eleanor is _pregnant_ , due any week now. I have to take even the smallest complaint seriously.” 

“Right. Yes, of course.” Greyson looked at his glass, thinking. “Wait, what about the electricity? Was that real too?”

“Alas yes. Hence the need to quickly reroute it.”

“And what would have happened if you hadn’t?”

Lucas said nothing, instead looking away and taking a sip of his drink. Greyson’s face dropped, his good humour waning as the implication washed over him.

“Redd would have died,” he said, his voice low, matter of fact: “wouldn’t he.”   

“Probably. And let me tell you, my heart was in my mouth when I saw him act like that.”

“Your heart – Lucas, he _knew_! Do you have any idea how traumatised he was after your little stunt?”  

“I do not, but I take it you do?” Lucas looked over the rim of his glass, barely hiding a smile. “It is something that has played on my mind ever since. _Whatever_ had gotten into him? It’s not like him to act so rash.”

Greyson raised his eyebrow at Lucas’s smirk.

“Redd is not the sort of person who would stand by and let someone get hurt. He’s a good man.”

“I think there is something more to it; I think that it was you who were trapped that had him so agitated. You two _are_ rather close, I’ve noticed.”

Greyson sighed. Lucas definitely knew, or was making a bloody good guess and that was close enough, and he was enjoying taunting him with it. He caught his tongue, choosing his next words carefully.

“He’s a good friend.”

“And here I was thinking you kept your own counsel!” Lucas said with a laugh. “Yes, he always seemed quite taken with your escapades, ever since you started working here. Who knew that such an upstanding young man would be drawn to your level of deceit? Or perhaps it was something else that kept him hanging around…?”

The pause hung in the air. Lucas definitely knew.

“Lucas…” Greyson allowed a warning note to enter his voice. Lucas ignored it. 

“If I were a gambling man, and you know full well that I am, I would bet that he’s rather keen on you. But I think you already know that, and are working the situation to your advantage. Though it is beyond me what you hope to get out of him – he has no intimate knowledge of neither the building nor its contents, and I don’t think his relationship with Tequila is of any interest to you either.”

Greyson placed his drink down on the desk and stood up. There was no point on being on the back foot around someone like Lucas; he would prod and probe and get him to walk into some sort of verbal trap. It was best to launch straight into the offensive.

With a roguish grin he walked to the large window, resting his arm on the frame, looking out at the tranquil Oxfordshire countryside.  

“It’s a good thing for you to mention. This building and its contents are rather interesting, aren’t they, Lucas? To say you are such a _fine_ man of wealth, an aristocrat with a title no less… this entire place rather falling apart. Oh yes, you do well to hide it, with your stylish art and bespoke furniture,” Greyson turned, gesturing around the office. “But it is all wallpaper over some pretty substantial cracks. Are you just waiting to do the repairs, or...?”

“Haha, very good,” Lucas said with a humourless grin.

Greyson ran a hand over the polished wood, his fingers resting on a hidden switch that would reveal a passage to the library. He didn’t need to open it, but the gesture was enough to flaunt his knowledge.

“And that is just the outside. In this past year I have found all manner of secrets lurking within. Would you like to know my favourites? The two ledgers in the basement are pretty fascinating. I had no idea you were so terrible with numbers! Perhaps you would need a little help in having someone do your sums, show you exactly how to add up a night’s takings compared to outgoings? I think those black-suited gentlemen, you know the ones, those you quickly usher into some far corner of the mansion well way from any prying eyes, would love to see something like that. Having a few cash flow problems, are we old chap?”

Lucas clapped his hands together slowly, his eyes hard, and his smile as vicious as a shark’s. Greyson met his gaze, unflinching. Lucas knew exactly the sort of man he was, what he was capable of. They were, after all, cut from the same cloth.

“Oh very, very well done, Greyson. I’m terribly impressed. I’ve not seen you so effortlessly expose weaknesses like that in a long time. But, these are the big guns you’re bringing out; what is all this for? You’re acting as though I’ve hit a nerve…?”

“It is merely a warning, my friend, that I won’t stand to listen to slander.”

“Slander! Perish the thought. I’ve seen you work; all those fine ladies on your arm at previous parties… you aren’t telling me that you weren’t using them?” Lucas looked at him pointedly. “No, I didn’t think so. But to respond so strongly at the mere mention of using this poor fellow…" Lucas paused for a second, before the final piece of the puzzle slid into place. "You reciprocate his feelings! Could it be that such a pragmatic rogue such as yourself actually has a soft heart under his façade? Now, that I didn’t expect!”

Greyson shook his head. He’d said his piece, played his hand, and won this little bout; he didn’t need to say any more.

Instead, he changed the subject.

“I’m considering leaving the _Brutale_. Before you say anything: my finances are healthy, and the work I’ve done here will put me in good stead for even legitimate work. I expect a letter of recommendation from you.”

Lucas blinked at the change of track, but took it within his stride.

“Ah yes, of course,” he nodded, “I expected as much. I take it, then, that you’ve seen today’s paper?”

“No, I can’t say I have?” Greyson frowned; this wasn’t the response he’d expected.  

Lucas placed his glass down and walked to his writing desk. Alongside his post-tray was a neatly folded newspaper; he opened it up, spreading the pages and turned to a tiny article hidden in the middle of the foreign news.

“I saw this today and immediately thought that you might be interested. Perhaps you can even make use of Redd on your next job; I don’t suppose you’ll be leaving him behind. After all, he’s a bright young man, educated, talented. There is nothing he couldn’t do back in London, though you may have to teach him how to be as devious as you are.”

Greyson ignored the comment and instead scanned the page, one article jumping out at him.

“Yes, very interesting,” he said, quelling the sudden beat of his heart, forcing himself to look away.

“Well! This isn’t quite the reaction I anticipated you having. I’m getting the impression you no longer care for this particular trinket?”

Greyson didn’t say anything; Lucas was only half right. He didn’t want to acquire it, true, but the thought of seeing it again made his head unpleasantly spin. He could feel Lucas watching him as he read.

“Well, if you change your mind, you at least know where it is. Here, take it. If nothing else, it’s a keepsake.”

Greyson took the newspaper, and folded the article away, hiding it amongst the other pages before tucking the paper under his arm.

“But, now I am quite thrown. If you hadn’t seen the article, why were you considering leaving?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Lucas studied his face, before shaking his head.

“Not really. Enjoy the rest of your day. And do let me know what you decide, won’t you? I’ll need to know if I need to hire a new head of security. Or a new croupier.”

He left Lucas’s office and wandered somewhat aimlessly through the hallways. Once convinced that he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into a small nook. He laid the newspaper out and re-read the short article. It didn’t say much; definitely didn’t give away the name of who had bought it, or even where in America it had gone. In fact, it was more content to obliquely imply that Lucas was now a very wealthy man.

Greyson snorted; not nearly wealthy enough. He’d seen enough over the past year to know that this place was running at a terrible loss, haemorrhaging money at a startling rate. The bar did quite well, but the casino, coupled with Lucas’s whims to source rarer and rarer treasures, was bleeding him dry. If Greyson were so inclined, he could quite clear him out. 

He turned the newspaper over, and a headline caught his eye.

A diamond. A very _expensive_ diamond. Admittedly nothing compared to his last diamond robbery, but that wasn’t the _point_. He re-read the article.

Greyson felt a surge of something in his blood, a definite pull towards his next high profile heist. This wasn’t like the Moloch Egg, a fool’s errand bound to get him killed. This was entirely _doable_ ; less of a con and more of a good old fashioned burglary. The auction house would be surrounded by security, possibly armed, the goods under the tightest lock and key. Safes, guards, the need for lockpicking and reconnaissance, the lightest touch. He’d not fall into the same trap as that egg; he’d know his route perfectly, leaving nothing to chance.

He felt a rush in his mind, like he was flying.

Music from began to play, the notes from the piano cutting through his thoughts as they filtered through from the music room. Greyson recognised the song, one of Redd’s own composition, written for him.  

Lucas seemed convinced he’d take him with him; the possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind. It did make a sort of sense; Redd was an intelligent fellow, and undoubtedly talented… and with an endorsement from the _Brutale_ he could surely get a similar position elsewhere. And there was one thing which may be in his favour regarding this particular daydream; Lucas seemed to have really ticked Redd off. He might actually _want_ to go, and perhaps then he’d be more open to leaving with Greyson.

But what if he didn’t? Could he really leave him behind? Clay’s warning came flooding back, and the repercussion of doing so. He didn’t _want_ to, that was for sure. He was enjoying himself, regardless. But that siren call was there, song and sweet, in the form of a gaudy blue gem.

Damn everything. Damn Clay, damn Lucas, and damn Redd.

* * *

 

Greyson knocked sharply on Willow’s door, rapping the wood with his knuckles with a jaunty beat. There was an audible shuffling inside, followed by the door opening a crack, Willow’s face appearing in the gap. She looks surprised to see him standing there.

“Greyson? Is everything all right?” She asked, her voice full of confusion, her wide brown eyes flickering about, inspecting his face, his stance. Greyson shot her a winning smile.

“Of course my dear! Why wouldn’t they be? Just a social visit; are you free for a quick chat?”

“Actually, I am a little busy,” she said, glancing back into her room. Greyson felt a cool draught coming from somewhere; the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as if he was cold, despite the balmy summer heat. Willow paused, before turning back to face him. “Though, I suppose it can wait. I’ll be right out.”

She emerged, dressed in black silk, her long hair braided over her shoulder. He offered his arm; she shyly took it, her hand resting the crook of his elbow. With a smooth movement, he looked at his pocket watch.

“Good lord, it’s five o’clock already. Have you had tea yet? Or would you perhaps fancy something a little stronger.”

“I’m happy to go for a drink; the meals are so elaborate here, I wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite for dinner.”

“An excellent choice. I know just the place.”  

He escorted her through the corridors towards one of his favourite bars, a hidden little place well off the beaten track. Despite its lack of crowds, there always seemed to be a bartender stationed there. Poor fellow must be bored rigid.

Willow took a seat near the back of the room, sitting in the corner, almost completely hidden in the shadows. Greyson quickly returned with two bright drinks garnished with lemon peel. She raised one eyebrow at him, looking both bemused and mesmerised by the drink.

“I’m impressed… I must admit, I didn’t expect to find Sazerac here.” She thanked him before taking a delicate sip. Greyson did the same, enjoying the play of the alcohol over his tongue.

“Lucas does his research on exotic cocktails, and unlike the other bar here, I have it on good authority that there’s no poison in these ones. I thought it would be appropriate, given your heritage.”

“It sure is a taste of home. Do you not approve of the venom cocktails?”

“As much as I enjoy some thrills in my life, I prefer to keep them out of my food and drink. So my dear, how did you find the party? Did you get up to anything entertaining?”

“I… it… it was a little overwhelming. I meant to go to Miss Tequila’s concert, but she seemed so upset that Mr Rockridge didn’t play for her, I wasn’t sure if she was going to go through with it. I ended up retiring early; I don’t think I made it past seven o’clock!”

“You were up and about when I bumped into you that night. That must have been gone eleven, surely?”

“Something…. had woken me. I needed to check… I was worried about Tequila; it seems a lot of people have let her down recently and that can play on a woman’s mind.” Willow took another drink, looking concerned. Perhaps Redd hadn’t been entirely correct in his assertions about Tequila not being interested in _him,_ even if he were not that way inclined.

“That’s entirely my fault. She can blame me, if it makes her feel any better.”

“She already does, though I don’t think Mr Rockridge is exactly in her good books either.”

Greyson sighed.

“It was as I said… we were waylaid by some technical difficulty. It wasn’t supposed to take all evening.”

“Oh, I know. You don’t have to convince me. When I saw you afterwards I knew something had gone wrong. You were trying to hide it but I could see something had shaken you up.”

“No no, Willow, _I_ was fine. I was just worried about Redd,” Greyson said, sitting back in his seat, cradling his drink in his hands.

“You don’t have to keep secrets from me. It’s why you’re here,” Willow said, cocking her head to one side. As Greyson opened his mouth to speak she held up a hand to silence him. “No more lies, please. What did you want to talk about?”

“I need to make a decision,” Greyson said stroking his beard in thought.

“Ah, now this I can help with. I was worried you were going to ask me to use the Sight.”

“Hardly. I don’t believe in any of that mumbo-jumbo.”

“Greyson, you shouldn’t be so disparaging of other’s beliefs. I know you aren’t a man of faith, but I take mine very seriously,” she reproached. Greyson said nothing. “And learning to apologise won’t go amiss either.”

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “So, what did you what decision do you have to make?”

“I’m contemplating returning to London. Permanently.”

She paused, glancing around the room. He followed her gaze but didn’t see anything. The bartender wasn’t paying them the slightest bit of attention, instead fastidiously cleaning the various glasses. 

“Is that all?” she asked.

“It’s enough, surely?”

She placed a hand to her lips, thinking.

“Well, there are two things which stir the winds of change. Running from something, or running towards it. Which one is it? Are you being pushed or pulled?”

“I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.” The diamond. Redd. A chaotic life here at the Brutale, or going back to the controlled life he’d always had and was bloody good at. Or perhaps having both, bringing Redd with him into the thrill of it all… and the danger that came with it.     

“But you are already here. Whatever is drawing you here already has you. Why do you want to leave?”

“I’m… not sure I do.” The recent memory of being in Redd’s arms surfaced, the warm comfort. He couldn’t stop his smile.  

“Then what is pulling you to London?”

He swigged his drink.

“Up until six years ago I was running confidence scams, high profile burglaries… and everything I did was so bloody exciting. Every waking moment I worked towards the next heist. I did everything myself, as well; plans, sourcing materials, setting the stage. It was such an _adventure_. It felt like the entire world belonged to me.”

“And you wish to return to that lifestyle?”

“That’s the thing. After the party, I thought that perhaps I didn’t. It honestly made me sick to think about how terribly wrong that entire bloody fiasco went. Not that I can publically say that, of course, this is strictly between you and me. But, being a treasure hunter is who I am. I’ve written a book on it, for god’s sake! My entire history has been wrapped up in that life – if I were to leave it, then what? Play at being a businessman? It would be just as fake as any other guise I’ve had.”

“You’re a bit young to be heading into a midlife crisis, aren’t you?” she smiled at him; he returned it, absently running a hand over his bald head.   

“Yes, a bit. Anyway, look at this.”

Taking the newspaper out of his jacket, he carefully unfolded it, before carefully placing it on the table between them. The diamond article was front and centre. He watched as she read it, her lips moving slightly as she read. She glanced up at him, her expression sharp.

“I don’t think you want to buy this, do you. You’re going to steal it. Why?”

“Because it will be _exhilarating_. It will prove that I’m still in the game, that I can do everything I always have done. It is who I am.”

“Who are you trying to prove this to?”

“Myself. Maybe to Lucas. He remarked I was losing my edge earlier and I love proving him wrong. And when I read this, I felt like my old self again.”

“I see. But Greyson, if you leave, you leave behind love, don’t you?”

“I… excuse me?” Just how many people bloody knew? This was getting beyond ridiculous. First Clay, then Lucas, and now apparently Willow. He might as well just tell the whole bloody mansion and get it over with.

“This mansion has secrets, Greyson. You know many. Marquis Bondes knows more, more even than you. But there are things that neither of you can see.”

“And you can, can you? Let me guess-?”

“You don’t need the Sight to see you are adored. Loved by someone who sees past your…many… flaws.”

“Now, look here-“

“I think it is my turn to talk now. I don’t know you, Greyson, but I see your soul, and that is enough. You’re cocksure and confident, using people around you as a means to an end. I know your type. But I can also see what you are trying to hide from everyone; there is someone you want close, but not, perhaps, to discard afterwards.”

“Cold reading won’t working on me. I know the trick; done it myself a few times too.” He folded his arms, unimpressed. Willow focussed on her drink, not meeting his eye as she continued.

“That night, when you came to me shaken and forlorn, I listened. You almost lost someone, in two ways. I do not know the details – you never told me and I won’t ask – but it was something so severe that it shook you to your very core. For perhaps the first time you were _afraid_ to be alone…. You then sought comfort, and was offered something more profound instead. That perhaps scared you even more. I can see it in your eyes now that you don’t believe what I’m saying, and that you don’t want to admit that I’m right. But please believe me when I say that this change, coming here away from that life, was for the better. And you know it. Your life here will make you happy. Chasing your diamonds and riches will only bring ruin.”

“It hasn’t so far, though! It was chasing those sorts of dreams that made me the man I am, that landed me here in the first place!”

“Exactly. That life made you who you are. But Greyson, let me ask you: if being in London scamming people and stealing treasures contains all that you truly want, why are you trying quite so hard to convince _me_ that pursuing that lifestyle is the right thing to do?”

Willow smiled at him, slightly smugly, when he didn’t answer.

She took one last swig of her drink before standing up, brushing past him in a rustle of silk. She laid her dark hand on his shoulder, before bending down to whisper: “The truth, I find, rarely needs such an effective argument to go along with it.”

Greyson didn’t watch her leave, instead staring straight ahead, his mind racing. After a moment, he went back to the bar, ordering a double whiskey.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite Willow’s warning, and appeal to the contrary, thoughts of stealing the diamond were proving to be quite overwhelming. After he’d returned to his room – rather later than he’d intended, having opted to stay and drink an inadvisable amount of whiskey to quell the voice in his head that traitorously whispered that she was right– he’d sat at his desk and spread out the newspaper once more. The article, neatly tucked away in one corner of the broadsheet, taunted him; it stood out amongst all the other news, albeit far more blurred than it had done a few hours previously. The 4th of August was a little over a month away; he had more than enough time to finish up at the _Brutale_ and plan his next move.  

Greyson felt that he’d rather downplayed how great the pull to London truly was; Willow just didn’t quite understand the gravity of his statement when he’d told her that these sorts of high profile burglaries were who he _was,_ his identity that he’d cultivated over the past twenty years. He couldn’t deny his nature. Yes, his relationship with Redd was rather special to him, he would acknowledge that, but what was one romance against years of successful heists and accumulated wealth? Deep down, he knew the answer. He resisted it. Despite already being rather drunk he staggered to his drinks cabinet and poured himself, rather messily, another glass. He knocked the shot back, feeling the burn of alcohol in his throat, threatening to make him cough. He cast half a glance to his bed. Recent memory came flooding back. He pushed the invading thought aside. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Sitting back in his chair, he rested a hand over his brow as plans and schemes flickered in front of his mind’s eye at startling speed.

He’d start by getting in touch with his old associates; Charlie Morgan would certainly rent him, anonymously of course, a secure building to act as a safe-house, and Bill Winters could source his usual tools to be discarded after the job. That would take care of the practical considerations; it always helped to know people like that, folk who he most definitely didn’t trust in the traditional sense but could be absolutely relied upon to lose their memories when appropriately bribed.

Then he would telephone Mr Douglas and Mrs Maher to ensure that his flat in the more fashionable part of London was ready to receive him. He would never get used to having a butler or a housekeeper retaining his home, especially when he rarely lived there, but it was _gentlemen_ did, and it helped maintain his façade. Of course, news of his return to the City would travel fast- he’d make sure of it- and he would undoubtedly be invited to a soiree before too long to formally announce his return. He’d been away for a hell of a long time, what with spending five long years in prison, and then a little over a year here in Oxford.

He grinned to himself. There would be a few faces rather pleased to see him; he would make sure to have a drink with Willoughby and play cards with Reverend Buckley. Just like old times. Of course, there would be more people who would be utterly disgusted at his brazen return to society, too; the rather dour face of Lady Hastings swam back into his memory. He’d definitely have to say hello to her, if for no other reason than to further piss her off.

Greyson carelessly tore out the article regarding the diamond and stored it in his small leather notebook. He burned the rest of the newspaper, article of the Moloch Egg included; it wasn’t a keepsake he particularly wanted.

His mind was made up. It would take him a week to finish his consultancy, and another to sort out travel plans. That would leave him two weeks to gather information, draw up his plans, and set his heist in motion. He felt a shiver run down his spine. It felt good to organise something like this, to regain a semblance of control he’d recently been quite lacking. The _Brutale_ was too chaotic a place, too unpredictable. Things had changed so much in just a week; who knows how much they would change if he stayed.

* * *

 

In an effort to distract himself, and to cover up his true intentions, Greyson overtly busied himself with finishing his consultancy. He spent a considerable amount of time quite fastidiously compiling his notes into an official portfolio to formally present to Lucas. It was quite a detailed document, not only outlining the current state of the mansion, complete with the discovered passages and crawlspaces, but also included comprehensive recommendations to improve security for Lucas’s various treasures, artefacts and items of value. He’d contemplated leaving out some of the more scandalous discoveries, secrets Lucas probably didn’t want to be made public, but through a combination of professional pride, and also wanting to make life just a little bit more difficult for the bastard, he ultimately left those notes as they were. Besides, he didn’t want Lucas to think that he hadn’t uncovered those secrets, alongside exposing the _many_ weak links in the mansion’s defences.

He was alone in the library; his own room had proven too small, too distracting for him to focus properly on his work. Instead, he was rather taking advantage of the copious available space in the cool, quiet hall. He’d made himself quite at home, a large wooden desk buried under various schematics, and a minefield of notes scattered all around his feet. He leaned over a large floor-plan of the casino, squinting at his meticulous handwriting, a glass of whiskey in hand. He’d almost finished the bottle in his room; he’d have to raid the cellar again before too long.  

“Greyson?” Redd asked, his voice suspiciously close, placing a gentle hand on Greyson’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, when did you get here?!” he exclaimed, flinching at the touch, unable to hide his surprise. He spun around to face him, snapping his attention away from his work. He'd almost upset his glass; he'd only just managed to catch it it before any liquid could spill onto his notes. He’d genuinely not heard him approach; for a man of his size, Redd could be rather silent when he wanted to be.  

He knocked back the last of his drink, carefully placing the glass down where it wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Is everything all right? I called from the doorway but you didn’t answer.” Redd’s blue eyes were soft with thinly veiled concern as they flickered from his glass to his face. Greyson manufactured a smile for him, reaching up and patting his hand in reassurance. Unsurprisingly Redd withdrew it; even though they were very much alone, Redd never pushed for any public displays of affection, even something as innocuous as a casual touch.

“Of course, my fellow. I was just concentrating. I’m just trying to get this blasted portfolio finished for Lucas.”

“Has he asked for it, or something? You’ve been working on it all week.”

“Not in so many words, but I think it’s about time I had something to show for my time here. I haven’t been here mooching off of Lucas’s good nature, you know. I am supposedly employed by the reprobate.”

“Oh I didn’t doubt there was a reason we combed the length and breadth of this place. In addition to your treasure hunting, of course.”

“Well, there are no more treasures here, I can assure you.” He gestured to the stacks of paper. “And this is proof of it. If there is anything else in this mansion that hasn’t been captured in my notes, then it wasn’t worth writing about.”

“You sound confident.”

“I am.” He paused for a second before continuing. “I’m not going to lie, it’s been tough; a mansion built by the Gorecki family, with additions from both Runes and Sixpence… it took most of my skill to unlock everything the mansion had to offer. But I did it, and I can guarantee that no one else could produce something so detailed as this.”

“I believe you. You’ve been quite absorbed by it, too. Are you close to finishing?”

Greyson paused, warning bells ringing in his mind’s ear. He’d not brought up leaving the _Brutale_ yet, or even hinted at the possibility to Redd, but the way the conversation was headed, and with his tongue loosened by alcohol, he could very easily let slip. After all, if he was so close to completing his consultancy, what next? Redd was an intelligent fellow, he would undoubtedly read between the lines.

“Close, but not quite yet.”

* * *

 

On the surface, the rest of the week passed without much incident; Greyson spent most of his time studiously working in the library with only the occasional need to leave his work to speak to Lucas, or discuss the process of some elaborate mechanism with Sixpence. Greyson considered himself lucky; all the people he could possibly want to interview regarding the inner workings of the mansion were currently under the same roof. It was trivial to go over a small anomaly in the schematics with Thanos, if the old bastard was in the mood to do so, or question Aurum over a particular design choice.

He was close to wrapping up his work; a few more days and he’d be done. The mountain of paperwork had been efficiently been condensed into a single leather-bound folder; all it needed was a few more checks and it would be ready for review. He tried hard not to think of the other implication of finishing his work.

Greyson rounded the corridor of the guest suites and saw Redd lounging against the wall, idly glancing at his pocket watch.

“Redd? Is there a problem?” Greyson asked with a slight frown. Redd turned his head at the question, his face lighting up as he saw him.

“No? Why would there be? I was waiting for you.”

Greyson allowed himself to smile in return.

“I gave you a key for a reason; you could have waited in my room,” Greyson said with an amused smirk as he approached. “Remember about what I said about how it looks for someone to be loitering outside the bedrooms…”

“I know.” Redd rubbed the back of his head as he blushed. “And I appreciate the gesture. I contemplated doing so, but it felt rather intrusive. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if you would want to meet tonight; you’ve seemed quite preoccupied these past few days. I’m rather worried about you.”

“One day I won’t have to tell you not to overthink things, but apparently not today.” Greyson said as he leaned up to press a casual kiss to his lips. Redd returned it for a moment, before suddenly realising where they were.

“Grey… we can’t…”Redd breathed, pulling away, his eyes reluctantly flickering down the corridor at the closed doors.

“What? It’s just a kiss. In any case, who will come here? It’s not like we’re down in the casino.” Greyson said with a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, no one will see…” he touched Redd’s chin, trying to guide his lips back to his. Redd shook his head out of his gentle grip.

“They might. Other people have rooms here, don’t they?”

“That’s part of the thrill, surely?”

Redd looked unconvinced, though Greyson was sure there was a desire in his eyes that suggested that he could be persuaded.

“Fine, fine. If you’re sure…” Greyson met his gaze, enjoying the look of longing Redd was giving him. He waited, to see if Redd would actually throw caution to the wind and kiss him again. He looked tempted, his head moving a fraction, before he seemed to catch himself.

“Let’s go into your room. Please.”  

In the absence of having a key Greyson unlocked his door with his picks; he pushed it open, stepping aside to allow Redd to pass him.

As soon as they were both safely inside Redd pulled Greyson into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around his waist. Greyson hummed in pleasure as their tongues touched.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Redd murmured against his mouth.

“All good things, I hope,” Greyson whispered back, knowing the answer.

“How could I be thinking of anything else?”

Greyson couldn’t help himself.

“Well, you _could_ be thinking that I’m a terrible rogue who deserves to be forcibly introduced to the fountain out back.”

“Never!”

“Well, you’d be right.”

Redd paused, pulling back to study Greyson’s face, inspecting him.

“What’s wrong? That certainly isn’t like you.”

Greyson cursed himself; he was making too many mistakes recently. He’d have to be more careful, _especially_ around Redd. He recovered from his momentary lapse with a self-assured smile. He pecked a quick kiss to Redd’s lips before breaking out of his loose embrace.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Greyson said as he shook his head, purposefully ignoring Redd’s troubled expression.

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right? We are partners after all,” he smiled as he uttered the word, bashful and slightly nervous. “In both senses of the word.”

“Perhaps another time.” There was an uncomfortable silence; Greyson could practically see Redd fighting with the urge to press. “I mean it. And besides…”

Greyson took a step forwards, attempting to regain control of the situation, placing a gentle hand to Redd’s cheek, coaxing him to meet his eye. “I want to hear about what you’ve been thinking all day…”

Redd visibly relaxed at his touch. Good. He seemed willing to forget Greyson’s unintentional slip into melancholy.

“…would you rather I show you?” Redd asked. He was blushing, as if he was embarrassed at how bold he was being. Greyson raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was influencing Redd just as much as he was him.

“I think I could be persuaded.”

For all he was shy the first time they had sex, Redd seemed quite openly keen now. He was much swifter in removing his clothes this time, pulling his jumper over his head and casually discarding it on the floor.

“This is the only problem with the _Brutale_ ,” Redd said as he undid his shirt, “the rooms are always freezing without a fire, even this close to July. When do you think Lucas will install central heating?”

“When Thanos says he’s allowed to, probably. It will mean installing a whole new furnace system,” Greyson said as he took off his cravat. He relished at the sight of Redd, his chest bare; he had such beautiful shoulders, defined muscle so often hidden. It was such a _shame_ – perhaps he would take him to a tailor and get him something which fitted him properly.

“Not that I’m going to complain, old boy, but what’s brought this on?” Greyson asked as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You’ve never used my key before.”

“I still haven’t, technically.” Redd said, averting his gaze, “I’ve just been thinking a lot about you.”

“As you keep saying. So I have to ask: about anything in particular…?”

Redd didn’t answer immediately. Still largely clothed, Greyson guided him to lie down on his large bed, running his hands over his body as he did so. Redd was so pale beneath him, so tempting… he pressed a gentle bite at his neck, enjoying the gasp it elicited and the soft redness it caused.

“No…” Redd breathed, “nothing I can think of…”

Greyson manoeuvred to be on top of him, straddling his long legs, enjoying the feeling of his hard-muscled body move and shift beneath him. He caught Redd’s attention with a gentle hand under his chin, guiding him into a soft kiss, their lips pressing together.

“You’re sure?” Greyson ran a long finger up along Redd’s thigh, deliberately not touching his groin but instead letting the pads of his fingertips trail up over his stomach. It didn’t seem to make much difference; even without direct touch he could see the front of Redd’s trousers beginning to strain.

“Ah…”

“Because, as we have repeatedly demonstrated, you are a _terrible_ liar…” with a single finger he stroked along the length of Redd’s cock, feeling it twitch at his touch. Redd groaned, pushing into his hand, wanting more of his caress. Greyson was happy to deny him; he continued to use a single finger to tease the hardness beneath the fabric, enjoying the moan of frustration it caused.  
  
Redd turned his head to one side, and Greyson leaned down and kissed his exposed throat. Seeing the ghost of his former bite, he felt Redd flinch as his beard tickled the sensitive skin of his neck.

“I think you should tell me…” he whispered, his lips close to Redd's ear. 

“Grey… oh god… a few days ago… you said that you’d….”

“That I’d… what?” He moved his hand a little faster, feeling the friction of the fabric moving over his erection, watching with satisfaction as Redd’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“You know… do you me what I did to you.”

Greyson thought for a moment. Redd was blushing.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Mmm.”

“Tell me.”

“The way you looked… the way you felt. It was incredible. I’ve not been able to get the image out of my head.”

“And?”

“God Grey… I want you to…”  

Redd faltered, apparently too shy to say the words, or found them too vulgar. Pausing in his teasing touch, Greyson gently lifted Redd’s chin with a long finger, their eyes meeting. 

“I’d be happy to.”

With a roguish grin Greyson made a grand show of unbuttoning Redd’s trousers, feeling the buttons pop open, one by one, as he peeled back the dark fabric. He urged Redd to lift his hips as he slid the garment down over his muscled thighs. Taking advantage of the moment he looked Redd up and down and he felt a redoubled itch of passion as he took in the details about his well-formed body, his pale skin, the slight redness at his throat from Greyson’s love bites.   

Greyson saw the desire in Redd’s eyes; he felt encouraged, exhilarated by it. He traced a meandering line down Redd’s stomach, following a curving path of fine hair to the band of his underwear.   

There was a sharp, persistent knock at the door. Redd’s expression froze, and he pushed Greyson off from on top of him, pulling his trousers back up over his thighs and frantically looking for his discarded shirt.

Greyson slid off the bed with a fluid movement; he stroked his beard, tidying away a few flyaway hairs before tugging at the bottom of his shirt to straighten out the creases. He didn’t bother putting back on his cravat and waistcoat; he was technically decent enough for whoever was intruding. Greyson turned to Redd and placed a finger to his lips, indicating him to keep quiet, though he trusted Redd to do something inconspicuous whilst he answered whoever was disturbing them.

Greyson opened the door slightly, just wide enough to peer through. At the other side, an immaculately dressed butler stood, a silver tray balanced on his upturned palm, holding two pieces of paper.

“Yes?” Greyson asked, raising an eyebrow. The butler neatly bowed his head.

“Mr Grayson, please accept my apology at the intrusion. The Marquis invites you to dinner this evening.”

“Does he now?” Greyson said as he accepted the elegantly written invitation. It was embossed with gold, his name written in black ink in Lucas’s distinct cursive handwriting.

“It is a formal farewell to the guests who will be shortly leaving the _Brutale_ , and also an apology for not being present at the recent masquerade ball,” the butler politely explained as he read it. “He hopes that you are able to attend.”

Greyson read between the lines; there wouldn’t be an option for declining, he would have to be there. Lucas only _hoped_ in the technical sense; it was an _expectation_.

“I see. Thank you. Is that all?”

“I have one for Mr Rockridge too, sir.” The butler took the second piece of paper and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

“His room is down the hall. Second door on the right.”

“No, sir, I have already delivered the invitations to Mr Clay and Ms. Trinity. This is for Mr _Redd_ Rockridge.” The butler handed him the second letter without changing his expression. Greyson made sure his didn’t change either, though he internally was cursing Lucas with every expletive he knew.

“I’ll be sure to pass it on to him.”

“Thank you, sir.” The butler sharply nodded before turning away, his duty fulfilled.

Greyson closed the door. Redd emerged from the corner of the room he’d been lurking in, looking worried, his shirt haphazardly buttoned.

“Do you think he knew I was here?” He asked, sounding concerned.  

“Probably, though I wouldn’t worry about it. Either he’d already been to your room and made the assumption, or Lucas is being a git.” Greyson said with a shrug. He handed the letter over. “I’m fully expecting it to be the latter, considering what he said to me a few days ago.”

“Lucas knows about us!?”

“As I said, don’t worry about it.” Greyson said, handing him his invitation. Redd took it, before sitting on the bed, looking pale. Greyson sat next to him, his expression gentle. “Trust me. The bastard always would have worked it out, sooner or later. He has a way of finding things out about people so he can use it.”

“This isn’t making me feel any better.”

“Redd; out of the two of us, who do you think Lucas _wants_ to have any kind of dirt on? You’ll be fine. It’s me he wants to torment, and him knowing that I’m seeing you doesn’t concern me one jot.”

“No? Why not?” Redd looked positively stricken. Greyson shrugged.  

“Because I have far, far worse on my rap sheet; merely being involved with another man quite pales in comparison.”

“I can’t believe he _knows_.”

“Yes well. Whilst we are on the topic, so does Clay.” Greyson expected a similar reaction; perhaps shock or worry.

“Oh. That’s unfortunate, but… I’m not so worried about him. He’s my _brother_.” Redd said, the corner of his lips twitching into a half-smile. “I know you don’t like him much, but we do get along rather well. I’d probably have told him myself sooner or later, and in any case, it makes it easier, rather than having to try to explain. He can be quite obtuse at times.”

“Can’t he just.”

Greyson wasn’t sure he agreed with Redd’s assessment; Clay seemed the sort of give someone with any sort of perversion a well-deserved black eye. Or maybe that delightful demeanour was reserved just for him. Redd cast him a side-eyed glance.

“Wait – how do you know all of this? Has Clay said something to you?”

“He… has had a choice word or two, yes. Do you honestly think you can keep a secret here? I’m starting to think the walls have ears.”

“I kept _mine_ for a long time. Only Tequila found out in the entire year I was harbouring my feelings for you.”

Greyson added another name to his mental checklist as to who knew about their relationship. He turned the invitation over in his hand. This had rather ruined his evening’s plans.

“Unfortunately, my fellow, it doesn’t look like we have any time to go to bed. We have this blasted dinner to go to. Bloody Lucas!” 

* * *

 

Greyson entered the ornate dining room with his usual flair; his shoulder back and his chest puffed out as he strut towards his host with a winning smile. They’d agreed to go to dinner separately, despite most of those present knowing about them in some capacity, and the butler delivering Redd’s invitation to his room. Greyson knew all too well the importance of maintaining plausible deniability. Indeed, Redd was already speaking to some of the other guests of the masquerade, a drink in hand, talking quietly.

His clear voice cut through the buzz of the room with an exuberant greeting. 

“Lucas! You old dog, what’s the meaning of this?” A server appeared at his elbow with a tray of impeccably balanced drinks. Greyson took one as he approached Lucas and Eleanor.

“Greyson!” Lucas exclaimed, his grin equally wide. “There you are. I was terribly surprised to see Redd show up alone. So glad you could make it; it really isn’t a party until the two of you show up.”

With a smart movement Greyson neatly kissed Eleanor’s hand. Upon hearing his name Redd cautiously approached. He nodded to Lucas in greeting.

“I always did wonder if you only kept me around as entertainment; thank you for confirming it,” Greyson said with a wide grin.  

“Well, you are a lot of fun… even though you’re a complete scoundrel, as I’m sure Redd here can attest.” 

Redd indignantly opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Greyson cut in with a laugh.

“I’ll take that as a personal endorsement; you can add it to my letter of recommendation.”

“Of course, of course. Anything else you’d like me to add? “Lock up the silverware” perhaps?”

“Jolly good. Very funny. At this rate the favour you’re owning me is rather large; I’m expecting you use your way with words to give me _quite_ the accolade.”

“A gentleman always pays his debts. Though I’m not sure _you’d_ know about that.”

Greyson laughed and clinked his glass against Lucas’s.

“I’m as much a gentleman as the situation calls for. In all aspects of my life.”

“Indeed so! Well, I’m glad you’ve made it; I was getting worried you’d both be too occupied with other pursuits to attend.”

“You did rather ruin my plans for the evening, yes,” Greyson said with a wink. It was such a shame too, Redd had seemed quite fired up, ready to be a little more assertive. He vaguely wondered how much it would take to get him back onto that train of thought.

Before Lucas could retort Eleanor placed a purposeful hand on his and, apologising to both Greyson and Redd, led him aside. Greyson watched them go with a smirk; Eleanor was a pragmatic woman, it seemed. She’d have her work cut out for her with Lucas’s tendency to be terribly unrealistic and impractical. Casting an eye at Redd he noticed he had an apprehensive look on his face.

“Don’t worry, Redd.” He said, nudging his arm. “Leave Lucas to me. You can’t circumvent him; you have to beat him at his own game.”

“He all but announced it…” Redd muttered, hiding his stricken look behind his professional mask.

“But was oblique enough to not to. Just laugh at his jokes, it will be fine.” 

Lucas stood at the head of the table, smartly tinkling a spoon against his glass for silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please, take a seat,” he called, gesturing to the immaculately laid table. It was dressed a lot more fussily than usual; a forest of cutlery, flowers, centrepieces and candlesticks made it quite difficult to get a clear view of those seated opposite. It offered the illusion of privacy; were this a gathering down in London, Greyson would have taken the opportunity to slip his hand into an unguarded handbag or jacket pocket. He scanned the table for his name; he and Redd was to be sat side by side. He smiled to himself. He could have fun with that, especially considering their evening was cut rather short.

As Redd sat next to him, Greyson allowed his hand to brush against his, a small calculated movement, just to let Redd know that he hadn’t forgotten about what they were going to do once they got back to his room, and he wasn’t about to let Redd do so either.

Everyone seated, Lucas raised his hand once more for silence.

“Thank you all for being able to join me this evening. I sincerely apologise for being unable to join you all in the festivities of the midsummer party last week; I hope that you enjoyed the revelries, and left my casino exponentially richer!”

There was a low titter of laughter. “Of course, all good things must come to an end, and for some of you, that means bidding farewell for another year. Most of you will be merely returning to your homes and lives away from the glamour of my dear mansion, but for some of you, I’m aware that grander things are on the cards.”

Greyson suppressed a wince; he should have predicted something like this. It wouldn’t take much to clue Redd into his intention to leave, and Lucas was enough of a bastard to do just that, publically, here and now. It’s probably why he was so adamant that both he and Redd were in attendance.

He picked up his wine glass and drained the contents.

“I am pleased to announce that our own Southern Siren has accepted the title role in the _tragedia lirica,_ “Norma”, to be performed at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. Tequila, I bid you the best of luck. Or as I hear they have started saying in theatres: may you break a leg!”

A general round of applause; Tequila cast her eyes down at her plate, but looked pleased.

Greyson let out the sigh of relief he was surreptitiously holding. Damn Lucas! He did that on purpose. A waiter glided next to him, a bottle of champagne held in a white cloth, refilling his glass. He took a deep swig as the table erupted into talk, many people loudly congratulating Tequila on her new role as the _Prima Donna_ of a very well regarded opera.

“Grey?” Redd asked, leaning close to him, whispering under his breath.

“It’s nothing.” He finished his drink and offered allowed the waiter to pour another. He brought his emotions back under his control. He planned to have fun with this evening, despite everything; he wasn’t about to let Redd worry.

As the dinner got properly underway Greyson placed his napkin on his lap, allowing his hand to stray onto Redd’s leg, give his knee a gentle squeeze, before lazily removing it to pick up his knife. Redd didn’t overtly react, though sitting this close Greyson could see a slight jump in his cheek at the contact. For all this could have been a reassuring gesture, there was an undeniable _thrill_ about pushing Redd’s boundaries, especially when it came to being a little more public about their intimacy.

“It’s a shame we were interrupted before,” Greyson muttered as he neatly buttered a piece of bread. “I was quite getting into the swing of things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about when we finally manage to get back to our room; I can’t wait to get my hands on that body of yours. You shouldn’t hide it, you know?”

“You shouldn’t talk about that here,” Redd said, turning his head to meet his eye, looking serious. Greyson grinned at him, his eyes flashing.    

“Well, why ever not? Look around – no one can hear us; no one cares enough to even listen. They’re all enamoured with Tequila right now.”

“People might be,” Redd retorted, looking briefly through the extensive table decorations and centrepieces at the guests in their vicinity. Greyson followed his line of sight and saw nothing of concern. Indeed, to his left Willow was in deep conversation with Tequila, and he could hear Clay in the middle of an elaborate anecdote, talking loudly to Trinity.

“Do you not want me to talk to you like this? You seemed to enjoy it in the bar the other night and that was no less public.”

“That seemed different, somehow.”

“Not really. Hiding away in a booth or behind extensive decoration – it’s all the same really. What have I told you about worrying about every single eventuality?”

Redd sighed, his brow knitted in thought. Greyson waited patiently, sipping from his glass.

“I… do enjoy hearing that you’re thinking about me too,” Redd admitted.

“And you would like to hear that right now?”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

“And my touch? I promise to be discrete.”

Redd held his gaze for a while, as if deciding if he should surrender to what would undoubtedly be a lot of fun. Greyson raised his eyebrow.

“…yes.”

Greyson grinned, his dark eyes flashing at the explicit permission to continue.

“Just keep your eyes on Lucas, and no one will be any wiser, even if they were to glance our way.”

Redd did was he was told, settling his regular features into a stoic, impassive mask as he feigned to listen to Lucas’s idle chat as he entertained Thanos Gorecki and Reginald Sixpence.

After placing a piece of bread neatly on his plate, Greyson took the opportunity to place his hand back on Redd’s leg, sliding it higher until it came to rest on his thigh. The only indication Redd gave that he even acknowledged the touch was a slight flicker of his eye. With his free hand Greyson picked up his glass of wine and casually leant back in his chair so that he could continue to speak without anyone overhearing.

“See? No one is paying us any attention. It’s fine. So… where were we… oh yes… not even an hour ago, you asked in no uncertain terms, for me to fuck you...”

“Grey…” Redd breathed, his hand tightening around his glass.  

“Well, I can’t do much about that while we are stuck at some fussy dinner, but I can at least get you fired up for when we get back. So, what would you like to hear right now?”

Redd closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Just… you’re sure no one can hear you?” he turned his head to look at him, his cheeks slightly flushed. From beneath his cravat Greyson could see the faint red markings from his bites, threatening to be a bruise-coloured purple tomorrow.

“I promise. Keep focussing on the head of the table no matter what. Trust me.”

Redd looked deep into his eyes before taking a deep breath, steeling himself. Greyson stroked his thigh in reassurance.

“So. You said you wanted me to fuck you… you’ll be pleased to hear that I’m more than happy to indulge that fantasy. I wonder how you’ll like it. Hard and fast, perhaps? Or do you enjoy being teased, having everything drawn out…”

“I think you know,” Redd muttered, his face almost mask-like it was so still.

“I think I do to. But we shouldn’t just jump straight into that. I want to make sure you enjoy having my cock deep inside you.”

Redd shivered. He masked the movement by leaning forward, resting one elbow on the table. Bringing a trembling hand to his mouth, he bit his knuckle, briefly closing his eyes in concentration, or perhaps quite clearly imagining the scenario. Regardless of the reason, this close, Greyson could hear the change in his breathing. Satisfied, Greyson took a sip of his drink before continuing.

“First I’m going run my hands over your body, make sure that you’re truly appreciative of my touch. Then I’m going to have my lips around you, push you down on the bed and drive you to the very brink. I know you enjoy my mouth, and I know you enjoy what I can do with my tongue.”

Redd made an appreciative sound in his throat, his cheeks beginning to flush.

“I think I have quite a good measure of what you like by now. You enjoy things being done slowly, being brought so close but not rushing towards that final moment. Though you often protest when I do.”

Redd glanced at him; Greyson grinned. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”

“You enjoy teasing me more,” Redd murmured.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” With no other warning, Greyson trailed his hand a touch higher, passing over the obvious bulge in Redd’s trousers. Redd inhaled sharply, flinching, but didn't move away from his touch. “I don’t think you can argue that you don’t enjoy being teased.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’re being ever so well behaved now, the very image a gentleman. I wonder what I have to do to make you moan my name,” Greyson began to stroke his fingers along the length of Redd’s cock, feeling the obvious swell and hardness.

“Please…” Redd gasped, the breathy sound very nearly turning into a whimper.

“I can feel how turned on you’re getting. Good lord, I have no idea how your trousers are keeping you in. I’m impressed that you’re keeping so quiet; you’re usually so vocal in the bedroom. Those grunts and moans you make; they are really something. But I want more from you. I’m going to fuck you until you can hardly take it anymore.”

Redd let out a half-moan, before catching himself, looking surprised that he even made that sound. He turned the moan into a cough, bringing a hand to his lips. Greyson smiled, briefly removing his hand to retrieve his drink. The poor fellow probably needed a little respite.

“Good lord, are you all right old chap? Wine go down the wrong way?” he asked, more than a touch flippantly.

“Grey…!” Redd gasped, picking up his glass of water and draining the contents. His cheeks were a dark red though it was uncertain if it was embarrassment of briefly being the centre of attention or arousal.

“Yes?”

Redd said nothing as he turned his head to look at him, breathing heavily. Greyson made sure everyone who had glanced their way had gone back to both their meal and their conversation before he continued; he returned his hand to its previous spot, continuing his manipulation.

“Is everything all right, Redd? How’s the wine?” Lucas called from the head of the table. Redd coughed, willing his blush to die down, before clearing his throat. Greyson didn’t stop moving his hand; from where they were, there was no possible way for Lucas to see what he was doing, though if Redd wasn’t careful, he would make an accurate guess.

“Very good, Lucas, thank you... Ah….it’s a fine vintage...”

“It seems to be going to your head. You look terribly flushed,” Lucas said with a shark-like grin.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Redd said, fighting against the rush of pleasure he was feeling, attempting to keep his voice smooth and level. “I’m fine with spirits but wine goes straight to my head.”

“That’s a load of bollocks, ‘scuse my French,” Clay said, from across the table, his face partially obscured by the elaborate centrepieces. “You’re a lightweight; I’ve seen you after you’ve ‘ad some gin. Christ, the number of times I’ve had to put you to bed after you’ve ‘ad too much!”

There was general laughter around the table; Redd’s blush grew. Greyson leaned closer to him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you might just prefer it if I were the one to take you to bed tonight.”

Redd turned to face him, his eyes burning with desire. 

“The look on your face is wonderful; you’ve gone terribly glassy eyed. I don’t know whether you want to tear my clothes off and fuck me, or let me pleasure you like this until you… well... you know. But I think you need to pay attention to me now. Tell you what, I’ll pretend I’m talking about something terribly engaging so you have an excuse to watch my lips.”

“Grey… I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

“We have a way to go yet… and haven’t things turned around? You were the one saying this would pass quickly and we would soon be back in our room, but we had to be patient… and now you can hardly wait. I take it you won’t be wanting to stay for after-dinner drinks?”

“Greyson, if you slow time me-“

Greyson laughed, a deep sound in his throat.

“Perhaps Redd Rockridge isn’t so mild mannered after all! Are you going to translate that energy into passion when we get back? Or perhaps you are lost at the thought of me continuing to tease you. Would you like that? I can see it in your eyes. My hands on your cock and I bring you closer and closer to the edge, sucking you until you cry out but not letting you release. Stopping every time you get close… how long do you think I could keep that up, do you think? How long before you beg, call my name?”

“Oh god Grey, please.”

“Yes, like that.”

“Your hand...”

“Don’t you like my touch?”

“I do. Too much.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you go here. I’m not that cruel.”

True to his words Greyson stopped his persistent gentle caress, and instead took the opportunity to order a fresh drink, one for himself, and another for Redd.   

The rest of the meal passed relatively quietly. Once the food arrived Greyson largely kept his teasing to the odd word, but if Redd looked to be cooling off he made to sure casually brush his leg against his or otherwise remind him that at any time he could start again. He even felt the odd stray caress in return, Redd allowing their fingers to touch when a plate or glass was passed between the two of them. Redd seemed thoroughly captivated, utterly charmed, and extremely keen for more.

As the meal drew to a close Lucas stood and gave a toast, thanking everyone once again for attending his party. He bade Tequila farewell, congratulated Clay and Trinity on their upcoming wedding, and wished each and every one good health to another year.   

Redd remained seated as everyone else got up to socialise; it was probably for the best, as there was no way he could possibly hide how he was likely feeling. Greyson took the opportunity to speak to a few individuals; he gave Clay a wide berth, but made a point of speaking to Willow.

“Have you thought more about what we discussed?” she asked, tilting her head as she inspected his face.

“Oh yes, lots in fact.”

“I pray that you make the right choice. Though it seems that you are. I’m happy.”

“Much appreciated.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Redd slink off, leaving the dining room with little ceremony. He smiled to himself.

“You shouldn’t stay here too long, Greyson.” Willow said, following his gaze. “I think you’re needed elsewhere.”

“You should be careful with how you phrase things, Willow; that could be taken as approval to leave _the Brutale_.”

“Don’t be facetious. Go after him.” 

* * *

 

Greyson made his way back to his room, tipsy and filled with anticipation. He'd managed, once again, to get quite carelessly drunk. Perhaps Lucas was right, he was losing his edge.

It was clear that he never had any control at the _Brutale_ ; he always counted on his ability to work the room to his advantage, and that tactic categorically didn’t work here. The Moloch egg was orchestrated for him, and Redd almost died because of it. And speaking of Redd… he has been harbouring deep affections for him for a year and he’d been totally unaware.

As he approached his room he was mildly surprised not to see Redd loitering in the guest corridor. Perhaps, instead, he’d opted to go back to his own room first, to freshen up a bit. He could be patient, get a few things of his own prepared in the meantime; he didn’t doubt it would take too long before Redd came to him. And if he didn’t turn up after a suitable amount of time, well, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know where Redd’s room was.

Out of curiosity he tried the handle and found it unlocked. He smiled to himself. Redd had finally got the nerve to use that key he gave him.

No sooner as Greyson pushed open the door he glimpsed Redd looking rather agitated, his expression serious. He turned at the sound of the door opening and with a few decisive steps strode towards him, grabbing him by his shoulders and pushing him into the wall, caging him with his arms, leaning his muscled body against him before pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue fought against Greyson’s as he thrust it into his mouth, the press of his lips forceful and strong. Greyson groaned, holding on to Redd where he could, the kiss taking his breath. He was pinned, trapped, his back pressed against the oak panelling, unable to slide free.

“You are an utter _beast_ ,” Redd growled, his voice low and raspy. He kissed Greyson again before he could respond, wanting more, and for once not being afraid to take it. Greyson felt his eyes flutter closed at the intensity of it, his fingers gripping into Redd’s shoulder. Eventually he managed to pull away with a gasp. He met Redd’s gaze, relishing in the blazing desire he saw there.

“You… you rather seemed to be enjoying yourself. I was hardly going to stop-“he began, silenced by Redd’s mouth covering his.

“Three hours.” Redd whispered against his lips, his breath hot and heavy. “You put me through three hours of that!” In a decisive action he grabbed Greyson’s wrist and guided him to touch his groin. “I’ve been like this for all of it!” Through the fabric of his trousers Greyson could feel the hardness, straining against the fabric. His fingers instinctively curled, caressing, feeling Redd moan against his touch. He grinned at him, looking up with mischievous eyes.

“As I said. Clearly enjoying yourself.”

Redd kissed him once more. In a whirlwind movement Greyson found himself pulled from the wall and effortlessly pushed back towards the bed. He knew Redd was strong – he’d proven it time and time again – but he could feel the raw power coming off him now. Unbridled passion and energy through bulging muscles and peaking desire.

Electric tension snapped between them, making the air heavy with potential.

The bed hit the back of his knees and he felt himself fall backwards. Redd was immediately on top of him, all but tearing his clothes from his body in an effort to swiftly undress him. Greyson helped where he could in an effort to preserve his wardrobe, but could help but thrill as his torso was exposed to the chill of the room, the coolness chased away with the heat of Redd’s mouth kissing over his dark skin, trailing his tongue down his neck, down to his collarbone to his chest, whilst his hands imprecisely caressed and touched his stirring cock through his trousers.

Greyson ran his hands through Redd’s hair, his neck, fingers stopping when they reached his shirt collar. He tugged at the fabric.

“Get undressed?” he suggested. “You can’t have all the fun.”

Redd pulled back, pulling off his jumper over his head and throwing it aside, unbuttoning his shirt to let the fabric fall open, before resuming where he was before. His lips manipulated Greyson’s skin, nipping as well as kissing, leaving little marks as he continued lower. Greyson restrained himself from aiding Redd as he fumbled in the attempt to peel back his trousers. Redd’s hands, usually so delicate, were struggling with the buttons. Well, he was going to have to work for it – if he was going to show such brazen possessiveness, Greyson was going to let him, to see how far it would go.

Greyson’s trousers finally defeated and deftly removed, Redd crouched over his hips, his expression amusingly serious as he hovered above the obvious strain in his underwear, the fabric pulling. Greyson shivered as he felt Redd’s breath on his skin and watched with anticipation as he felt his long, elegant fingers slide under the waistband, before removing his underwear completely, letting his aching cock break free. Greyson moaned, his hips jerking at the accidental brush of Redd’s hand as he worked to completely strip him.

Redd gripped his cock and began to stroke, the movements far quicker and deft than they had been previously. Greyson shuddered at the touch, his breathing shallow as he felt his pulse quicken and throb. He looked down, wanting to see more of the devilish gleam in Redd’s eyes, more of that fiery passion. 

Redd returned his gaze, before kneeling on the floor, urging Greyson’s legs apart as he sprawled off the side of the bed. His trousers and underwear were roughly thrown aside, leaving him in his dishevelled shirt, the starched fabric crumpled as it pooled on the sheets.

Redd eyed him hungrily.

“At dinner,” Redd said, glancing at Greyson as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch. “You spoke so much of what you were going to do to me… but you never said what you wanted me to do to you.”

With one hand he held him at the base of his cock, before lowering his head and taking him in as far as he would go. As Redd’s mouth closed over him Greyson’s eyes trembled closed, gasping at the sensation, his body arching slightly, angling his hips to push more of himself into his mouth. He laced his fingers in Redd’s hair, guiding his head downwards.

A hesitant tongue sliding along the bottom of the shaft, lips that closed cautiously around him. The wet heat engulfing him, the sensation made him gasp. He tried to say something terribly witty, but his words were lost in an incoherent moan as he gave into the bliss caused by the friction of Redd’s lips. For a moment he tried to exercise restraint, but it seemed pointless; his body almost moved of its own accord. Starting out gentle and torturously slow he thrust carefully into Redd’s mouth, watching for signs of discomfort; there were none. Redd’s eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed, his lips reddening. Redd fluttered his tongue against the acutely sensitive skin. There was still a feeling of inexperience, true, a rawness that was exhilarating, but Redd was a quick learner.

“Good lord, Redd…” he groaned. His blood was throbbing wildly in his ears and groin, his breath whistling through clenched teeth as he fought for control. He groaned deeply, trembling with each thrust; wet heat met the base of his cock, spread and pressed and moved, Redd meeting his movement’s a low groan of his own. Greyson arched his back and cried out, his limbs trembling as Redd’s tongue licked up the entire length, reached the tip, and was gone.

“Don’t stop!”

“Just be patient, will you?” Redd said with a slight grin, “after all the teasing you put me through earlier, turnabout is fair play.”

“You’re the devil,” Greyson muttered weakly, closing his eyes.

“So that’s why Lucas put horns on my mask” Redd retorted with a gleam in his eye, before dropping his head and kissing the aching tip of Greyson’s cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Greyson said, his voice strained.

“It’s only fair,” Redd said, but before Greyson could say anything he felt himself engulfed in the pulling heat of Redd’s mouth once more. He groaned, snapping his head back as his hips bucked. Redd drew the swollen head into his mouth, sucking hard. Greyson bit his lip, struggling not to cry out as Redd took him in deeper, pumping his tongue up and down on the underside of his shaft, before returning his attention to the head, drawing sharp breaths from his throat.

Redd pulled away with a satisfied grin as Greyson almost cried out in dismay.

“Redd!”

“Yes?”

“You’re… honestly going to stop there?”

“I think we are on even footing. And what was it you said earlier? ‘I kind of need you hard for the next bit’”

“You want me to fuck you.”

“You know I do. And you have all but promised such all evening. You can’t go back on your word now.”

Greyson fell back on the bed, bringing a shaking hand to his eyes as he tried to pull his thoughts into some semblance of coherency.

“In that case… strip for me.” he murmured, fighting his breathing to once again be regular, controlled. He welcomed the respite as Redd stood up, sliding out of his remaining clothes. Redd eagerly discarded his clothed with little care. Greyson smiled at the sight; how far they’d come. “Come to the bed.”

With a bit of manoeuvring, Greyson guided Redd onto the mattress, pulling him into his embrace and kissing him deeply. Redd’s skin felt red hot, his chest as flushed as his cheeks, almost trembling with need. Greyson did as he promised at dinner, running his hands over his body, gentle fingertips passing over his nipples as he traced down his torso. Redd shivered, moaning at the touch.

“Grey…”

“You really want this, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please.”

Greyson kissed him once more, holding his body close.

“I want you on your knees…”

Redd obeyed, bracing himself against the soft cotton of the bedsheets, supporting himself on all fours. Greyson took the opportunity to retrieve the small bottle of oil he had for this express purpose. Preparing himself, he stroked his slick hands over Redd’s hips, before sliding forwards to caress his hard cock. Redd flinched slightly before moaning at Greyson’s gentle stroking hand. He’d begun to breathe faster, his heartbeat racing with anticipation.

Greyson pressed a kiss to Redd’s back.

“Relax. Don’t be tense up. This will be enjoyable, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt it. Sorry, I’m just...”

“Redd, I don’t say this often, but trust me? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, I know. I do trust you. It’s nothing.”

Greyson move his fingers away from Redd’s cock, sliding his hands to his lower back, before his fingers stroking gently down. Adding more oil to his hands, and watching Redd carefully for any sign of discomfort, he traced his fingers over one of the most intimate parts of his body, circling, caressing. He heard Redd take a sharp intake of breath, the gasp bitten back, and turning into a moan instead.

He pressed his mouth to Redd’s broad shoulder, kissing along the smooth pale flesh, hoping to distract him as he pressed a finger slowly inside him. Redd moaned, relaxing, his back arching into the intimate caress. Greyson gently flexed his fingers, finding the spot that would take ecstasy from pressure. Redd let out a choking cry at the touch forcing a strange, fierce pleasure within him.

Pulling his fingers free, one hand holding onto Redd’s hip, the other guiding his cock, Greyson entered him, groaning aloud at the feeling of tight heat enveloping him, making his heart skip and quiver in place.

They were still for a moment, pressed close together, their breathing ragged and hoarse.

Greyson pulled back and began to slowly move, driving his hips forward. Redd flinched; Greyson paused, stroking caressing, waiting for him to relax before beginning to thrust.

“It’s okay… relax…”

“I’m fine. Please. I want you to…”

Carefully, gently, Greyson increased the pace. The bed began to creak with the rhythm of their bodies, covers gripped tight in Redd’s hands, the deepening, tightening pleasure. Greyson closed his eyes, wet his lips, breathing hard, finding the perfect stroke, building towards a crescendo as Redd’s moans became cries of pleasure, gasps as the intensity spiked.

“Grey…!”

“Ah… fuck… Redd…!” Greyson tried so hard to hold on, distracting himself by wrapping his arm around Redd’s waist and grabbing his throbbing cock. He gripped the hot flesh and tried to stroke in time to his thrusts. Redd gasped, jerking his hips against Greyson’s hand as he came, moaning his name. Greyson felt his own orgasm peak, ultimately losing the battle in a rush of delight.

They collapsed together onto the bed, Greyson’s arms around Redd’s waist, holding him close and feeling his heart beat wildly as his mind cleared. Redd’s hands held onto his; he could feel him fighting for breath.

For a moment they laid in the middle of the bed, the sheets crumpled around them, serene in each other’s embrace, their bodies’ slick with sweat. Greyson found himself easily manoeuvred to have his head resting on Redd’s chest, his arms around his waist. As was often the case in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he didn’t want to move; his limbs felt heavy, lethargic, and utterly satisfied.  

“Grey?” Redd whispered, his voice low as he was slipping into sleep.  

“Mmm?” Greyson murmured, half dozing.

“This… is perfect. I didn’t think I could _imagine_ how wonderful being in a relationship like this could be.”

Greyson roused, his earlier thoughts about leaving coming filtering back through a haze of guilt. He knew that the decent thing to do would be to tell him. His concerns, his uncertainties over the future, and the _irresistible_ draw to London into that familiarity of heists and calculated risk...

Redd deserved to know.  But his tongue fell still, unwilling to form the words.

“m glad…” he muttered, non-committal, though his mind began to race, the proverbial cogs turning. Though he stayed silent, he internally argued to himself that he _did_ care for Redd, and he agreed that this – lying here in his arms- was wonderful… but staying here was too _risky_. The longer he stayed the more likely he was to run the risk of making the same mistake with that blasted Moloch Egg. Lucas could sense it too, and Willow’s warning was fresh in his mind.   

“I mean it. It seems strange to think it but… after I realised I was like this… I never thought it could happen to me...”

Redd’s voice was beginning to slow as he drifted off into sleep. Greyson closed his eyes, weakly trying to convince himself that leaving was not something he was doing for the fun of it. He squeezed Redd closer, feigning sleep. Redd sighed in pleasure, returning the embrace and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Greyson felt Redd’s heartbeat, steady and slow, as he dozed off. He did feel truly sorry for what he was about to do… he just hoped Redd would eventually understand.


	5. Chapter 5

Greyson sauntered through the corridors of the _Brutale_ with an almost forgotten sense of confidence and focussed determination. The day of the burglary was drawing ever nearer, and the sheer anticipation of going back to his old life was making his blood thrum in his veins and his head spin with giddiness. He had just one more task to complete and everything would be set in motion.

He made his way past the empty ballroom through to the grand Heaven and Hell staircase, before finally ascending the stairs to Lucas’s private wing. He hadn't meet a single person en route, despite crossing almost the entire breadth of the building; while he had noticed that the mansion seemed a hell of a lot _calmer_ than it had been for a while, the absolute quiet of his journey was bordering on ridiculous.  
  
It was somewhat understandable; almost all of the guests of the masquerade had long since returned to their lives, one by one leaving the ostentatious glamour of the mansion until only those nominally employed by Lucas remained. The absence of those honoured guests was painfully felt; sure, the casino still drew a crowd, but those people didn’t have the same energy as Lucas’s eccentric inner social circle. The pulse of the old place was slowing, but it brought with it little comfort; it was an unsettling calm.

Indeed, the days were passing with such excruciatingly slowness, the hours dragging as he struggled to find ways to occupy himself. He couldn’t settle to pleasurable pursuits, his previous hobbies and pastimes failing to engage him in any meaningful way. Even spending time with Redd was bordering on irritating rather than enjoyable, knowing that the time they spent together was painfully limited. The only thing which would quiet his fractured thoughts was studiously applying the same focus and attention he usually reserved to his consultancies to his up-and-coming robbery.

He’d given serious thought about stealing the diamond at the auction itself, swanning in past the door-staff with a forged invitation, disguised with a false name, loudly and visibly bidding on some inconsequential trinket in order to gain access to the catalogue. Once he was escorted to that room… that is when the real show began.  But, every instinct that he had screamed at him to reconsider that idea; as exciting as it would be to pull such an elaborate con, the Moloch Egg had resulted in failure because he’d come to _rely_ on that technique. He prided himself in his skills as an actor, but it meant nothing if his mark saw through his little game.

No, this was time, as he had initially thought, to revert back to what he was infamous for. He would attend the auction house the day before as a gentleman, with all of the appropriate discretion of a casual inquirer, and return later that night as a thief. He’d risk the intricacies of the safe, and brutish threat of the night-guards, before trying something so high profile as a public theft as the auction was going on, no matter how tempting.

His flat would be ready in a week; Mrs Maher, the fussy old dear, had assured him that she would immediately begin the necessary preparations. She seemed genuinely happy to hear of his return; it had rather caught him off guard. He thought she _preferred_ the peace and quiet his current living arrangements afforded her; she had a place to keep running at her leisure without him interfering in any way. 

His call to Charlie Morgan had been equally fruitful. There was a tenement building in Camden which recently had a small and dingy room available; Charlie was renting for practically nothing, accustomed as Grayson was to prices of the upper echelons of society. He didn’t ask what Greyson needed it for, and Greyson didn’t trouble him with the details. It was how Charlie liked it; the less he knew, the happier he was. It was _perfect_ ; not only were the slums within reasonable walking distance of the auction house, the area was densely populated, crowded to a fault with the working classes, who, once he had changed his clothing, wouldn’t give him a second glance.

He ran a hand through his beard as he thought. He’d have to do a little bit of groundwork to properly fit in, of course; he’d have to switch up his accent, shifting it from being Mr Greyson Grayson, the sort of person who had a butler and a fashionable flat and who was invited to fancy soirees and society balls, and becoming… just Grayson, a common criminal with somewhat of a silver tongue. If he played his cards right and befriended, or bribed, his immediate neighbours he could practically count on them to not shop him in to the coppers if he _was_ followed. And if they did decide to betray him, it wouldn’t hurt to start a few rumours about himself, providing the locals with plenty of false information as to his identity.

Contingency plans, that’s what he needed. That’s what he was missing on his _last_  heist. It's probably why it failed so spectacularly.  

He had one more call to make; his fixer. He had neither the time nor inclination to traipse through London sourcing every little item he needed, not when he could pay an old associate to anonymously do it for him. Just like the old days.

He paused his wanderings, stopping just short of Lucas’s private office, the heart of the mansion’s operations. He needed to use the phone again, and there would be more privacy here than risking the one the servants used down in the basement. There was a creak from the room, and Greyson paused, listening, ready to vanish back the way he came if necessary. Seconds passed, but there was no other sound, no tell-tale whisper of someone breathing, or a second creak of someone moving about on the old floorboards. Just the sounds of an old building on the brink of falling apart.

He tried the door handle; the door was locked. It seemed that Lucas had taken the contents of his security portfolio seriously. It wouldn’t stop _him_ though; he fished out his picks and in under a minute he was in the room.

Lucas’s office was empty and in rather a state of disarray. It looked half-ransacked, with books piled on the floor, papers and ledgers strewn over the large mahogany desk, and even one of the _genuine_ safes had been left open. It was tormenting him with the casino’s earnings, notes bundled together in neat hundred-pound stacks. If Greyson didn’t know any better he would have placed money on it all being a deliberate ruse, that Lucas expected him to come here and was deliberately goading him into stealing from him, or sneaking a peek at something he shouldn’t. He snorted; as if he was that foolish. He knew he could clear the place out, but only an idiot would take directly from a closely audited safe. No, if he wanted to help himself to the cash, he would have done so while it was still down in the casino, or when it was in transit.

His portfolio, detailing the current state of the mansion and filled with altogether rather confidential titbits regarding the weaknesses in Lucas’s security, was lying open on the desk, as if Lucas had started reading it and got bored halfway through. It was far more valuable than money; who knows what could happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands. It was a recently finished document, only finally compiled and theatrically presented yesterday. The Marquis had been appropriately appreciative of his efforts, though there was a barbed undercurrent to their exchange; Lucas had been quick to move the conversation past the shortcomings of the mansion and instead wholly too interested in Greyson’s future plans, asking probing questions to his methods and intentions of his upcoming heist which tested the limits of Greyson’s patience.

Speaking of, God only knew where the insufferable bastard was now; at the casino perhaps, encouraging some unfortunate soul to buy into the false allure the place emitted, or perhaps, quite conversely, hiding away in his inexplicably modest cottage. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t _here_ , and that was the important thing.

Greyson walked around Lucas’s desk, and, after sitting in his chair, he picked up the telephone receiver. He paused before dialling a number he had been paid good money to forget.

The phone rang for what seemed to be an unreasonably long time. Perhaps Bill’s past had caught up with him, too. The voice which eventually answered was gruff, speaking in a thick east-London accent.

“Yeah, what?”

“Alright Bill; it’s Greyson,” he allowed himself to slip slightly into his native patois. He didn’t do it often, losing the tone and metre of the upper classes he’d painstakingly taught himself to default to, but it was necessary in this case. Bill never responded well when he used his “toff voice”; he complained that it put him on edge, got his back up.

There was a pause as Bill mentally placed who he was.

“Oh. You. They let you out, did they? Fuckin’ mistake, if you ask me.”

“Like they had a choice; there isn’t a prison in England that can hold me. You of all people should know that.” Greyson scoffed, keeping one eye on the closed door to Lucas’s office, looking for the tell-tale shadow of a person lurking outside.

“Yeah yeah, I’ve ‘eard it all before. What was it they called you in the papers? ‘Light-fingered locksmith’ or some guff. Well, what do you want?”

“Oh you know me; the usual.”

“Big job, then? It’ll cost you.”

“As expected.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Greyson waited; Bill, being an overly paranoid fellow, had on occasion turned him down when he thought the risk was too great. Whilst Greyson did have another source he could turn to if it came to it, he’d rather not; his other contacts were far less _reliable_. 

“What’s the mark, and the deadline?”

“Sotheby’s, and 4th August.”

There was a bark of laughter.

“You don’t do things by fuckin’ halves, do you. That’s only a fuckin’ week away!”

“Can you do it, or not?”

“Yeah I can fuckin’ do it. But, I gotta ask: why _there_? The security'll be a fuckin’ _nightmare_. Want to go back to prison that badly, do you?”

“You know I can’t resist a diamond, and I don’t think the rich bastards who will be attending will expect me to try something like this so soon after the entire Moloch Egg fiasco.”

Another laugh, a deep guttural sound.

“You don’t change, do you?”

“I try not to, no.”

“Yeah I’ll have your things. They’ll be ready by next week. Pick up or drop off?”

“Pick up. Until then.”

He placed the receiver down with a tremor in his hand. That was it. The last piece in place. All he had to do now was rely that all of his research was as robust as he bloody hell hoped it was.

* * *

 

With only two days left before his heist, Greyson was feeling restless.

He’d led a rather separate life to Redd over the past week, something that Redd had been quick to shoulder the blame for. The poor fellow had drawn the short straw in his job- or perhaps it had been a penance long overdue- and he had almost consistently worked the highly unpopular nightshift. As a result, his days had been spent catching up on sleep, in his own room no less, in order to be alert and attentive for his midnight start. Not that Greyson hadn’t seen him around at all– they lived in the same building, after all, ate in the same kitchen, bathed in the same lavish bathrooms in ornate tubs that could _easily_ fit two people – but their schedules had seemed determined to keep them apart for anything more meaningful than a passing hello, or if they were alone in Greyson’s room, a quick kiss.

It all resulted in Greyson having a lot of time to kill, and not a lot to fill it with. He’d admittedly put off the more mundane aspects of leaving; planning a robbery was one thing, but the tedious tasks, such as packing, had been resolutely avoided. However, time was running out and he really couldn’t afford to dodge such responsibilities for much longer, lest he abandon his things and leave for London without his wardrobe.

Glancing at the clock, Greyson noted it was getting late and that it wouldn’t be too long before Redd started his shift; it was a good a time as any to start packing. He dragged a large chest from under his bed and hefted it up on to the mattress. 

Taking care to ensure the silk of his cravats and ties wouldn’t be disturbed in transit, and that his shirts would avoid the worst of the inevitable creases, he began to neatly fold his clothes into his case. As he ferried various garments from his wardrobe to the chest, he noticed that the odd item belonging to Redd was mixed in with his own clothes. Ever since he had taken to spending the night _here_ more often than not, current shift pattern notwithstanding, Redd had moved in enough of his clothes so that he didn’t have to sneak back to his own room wearing things which were obviously a day old and unacceptably rumpled. Greyson had raised an eyebrow at how limited his wardrobe selection was; he seemed to own nothing but the sort of exceedingly dull, smart clothes he wore for work.

He took special care to leave them behind, leaving shirts on their hangers and jumpers neatly folded. He did not need a reminder.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?”

Greyson flinched at cool tone in Redd’s voice, but didn’t turn around. He hadn’t even heard the door open, never mind hear him come in. Just how long had he been there?

Greyson continued to lay a pair of trousers into his suitcase.

“Notice what?” he asked, his voice light, flippant, defaulting to an attitude which was almost designed to infuriate. 

“That you have been acting strange. Distant.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Greyson…”

“Fine.” He said, almost under his breath. He kept his head down as Redd strode towards him, forcing his heartbeat to slow, to stop that terrible feeling of being caught, and the pain of guilt. “I hoped you hadn’t, to be honest.”

Redd placed a forceful hand on his shoulder and spun him round to face him. It was almost with the same strength that he’d used to pull him out from under the knives of the cage; it certainly had the same desperation. Greyson sighed, folding his arms across his chest, looking up at him expectantly.

“We’ve spent almost every day together for a year; I know every single one of your moods.” Redd paused, making an unspoken choice. “I know when you are obsessed with a treasure; you’re acting exactly like when that Egg finally showed up. That’s it, isn’t it? That bloody Egg?”

“No. Not this time.”

Redd didn’t respond, his silence forcing Greyson to keep on talking. “It’s a diamond.” He took out his notebook and opened it to the correct page; the torn-out article announcing the sale of the Ocean Blue front and centre.

Redd cast his eye over it and scowled, his expression dark.

“But still a heist. So when were you planning on telling me? Were you even going to bother?”

Greyson shrugged as he slipped the notebook back into his pocket.

“Look, don’t you have a job to go to? I leave in the morning. I’m due to catch the commuter train to London. It’s all organised; booked and paid for.”

“I know.” Redd snapped. “I saw your ticket.”

“You’ve been in my room?”

“Don’t try to shift the blame. I wasn’t intentionally invading your privacy; I came here looking for you, using the key _you_ gave me. I thought you had been avoiding me, and now I know why.”

“It isn’t like that-“ 

“Like hell it isn’t!” Redd’s anger flared, suddenly hot and focussed as if the last of his resolve had finally given way to the hurt he was feeling. He’d only been _this_ angry with him once before, on that fateful night after the terrible incident in the theatre, and Greyson thought at the time it was going to result in him being punched. Who knows, this evening might end that way too.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” he asked, raising his voice. “You know I’m leaving. Why come here?”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on!”

“I’m going to steal a diamond,” Greyson said, unable to prevent the facetious tone from slipping out. “I thought that much was bloody obvious.”

Redd’s expression darkened, his jaw set.

“When are you coming back?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Greyson blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. _Fuck_. Redd didn’t realise.  

“I’m not.” He stood to face him, defiant, challenging him to press the issue.

Redd looked stunned, blinking in surprise. His anger subsided, replaced with shock; his skin grew pallid, the colour draining from his cheeks.

“So this is it?” he asked, a tremor in his voice, his skin pale with fury. “No goodbye, no explanation? Don’t I even deserve that? Or were you going to disappear like a coward?”

Greyson shook his head, his guilt redoubled; he quashed the feeling, steeling his resolve.

“It isn’t a matter of deserving. There’s nothing to say. You know where I’m going and what I’m going to do. What else do you want from me?”

Redd’s eyes bore into his, a bare, soul-crushing sadness shining from them. He opened his mouth to say something, to ask more questions, or to retort… but cut off into a grimace instead. He shook his head, and without saying anything, turned and left his room.

Greyson let out a shaky sigh, watching Redd’s back as he left, bringing his hand to his brow.

It _was_ better this way, he tried to convince himself. It was better than Redd loving him, and living in hope.

* * *

 

Greyson readjusted himself on the plush seats for the umpteenth time, idly playing with his cufflinks as he gazed out of the window. The train from Oxford to London would take a few hours to reach its destination as it leisurely carved through the North Wessex Downs, though he had long since lost interest in the rolling scenery as it sped past his window. It was a miserable day; a heavy summer rain had set in, the clouds low over the hills, rainwater streaming against the glass. Rain was usually a good omen for a heist; bad weather made people careless, hurried, and prone to making mistakes which could so easily be exploited. Right now he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. 

He was alone in his carriage and he was missing having someone to talk to. Even a dull businessman or dour woman would be better company than being alone with his thoughts. His argument with Redd was all but haunting him, his hurt expression at Greyson’s cruel words resurfacing in his memory without being prompted. He sighed in frustration; it was for the best! He was getting his safe old life back, and that alone was worth any hurt he caused.

And if not, Redd would forget him, eventually. 

In order to pass the time he glanced through his notebook, rereading his notes for the umpteenth time. It was all written in code, of course, lest it fell into the wrong hands, but it was incredibly detailed regardless. He was confident in his preparation and organisational ability; he couldn’t find fault in his plans. He put the notebook away with a sigh, and tapped his fingers on the seat of the bench in agitation. 

There was nothing for him to do until he reached Paddington station. He’d arranged for a driver to be waiting for him, but there was a temptation to send him back to his flat alone with his luggage, and instead take the opportunity to call in on a few associates first, before his presence in the City was inevitably felt. He could trivially call a taxi and head towards the East End to pick up his illicit things from Bill, or head north and call in on Charlie, see his new digs in Camden, that sort of thing. The rain would make it even easier; he wouldn’t even need to change as he’d stand out far less in his overcoat than he would in just his suit. It would be a _waste_ to pass up an opportunity like that.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and a steward poked his head into the cabin.

“Good morning, sir. Could I interest you in a newspaper?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Greyson rummaged in his pockets for some loose change; a copy of the London Times was pushed into his hands, the broadsheet dominating the cramped space of his cabin as he unfolded it. Nodding to the steward in dismissal he cast a disinterested eye over the headlines. A fire in Hammersmith; a bus inspector killed in a crash; a member of the royal family holidaying abroad. He flipped through the pages; sighing at the realisation that this was proving less interesting than watching the scenery.

[ ](https://imgur.com/OMZzkW8)

Greyson’s started in his seat, reading the article again. Most of the names were unfamiliar – London had no shortage of thugs and thieves, after all- but William Winters... _Bill_ was his associate.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a twist in his stomach as a sudden icy chill washed over him, chased by a fiery surge of incensed anger. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the paper.

How the _hell_ could that have happened? First of all, this was _his_ heist, and second… Bill was old hat at this, a seasoned professional. Fuck, how many years had he been in the business? Far longer than Greyson, in any case. It didn’t make any sense; Bill didn’t _make_ a careless mistakes. It was why he was the best fixer in London; none of his goods were traceable, and he didn’t sell to just anyone.

And now he was dead. Killed, probably.

 _Fuck_. 

That could have been him, lying on the floor of the auction house, dead hands likely clutching a meaningless gem. What had Bill not accounted for? What had he overlooked? Underestimated the security? Tripped some alarm?

Greyson felt suddenly lightheaded. He swore under his breath as he scrunched the pages of the newspaper together before casting it to the floor. He leant forward on the seat, his head in his hands. That _would_ have happened to him. He could sense it and the very idea made him feel sick to his stomach. Why hadn’t he realised the stakes were so high? That his life was on the line?

What now? He had no idea. He didn't even know what he _should_ do, and that was disturbing him. 

His carefully planned contingencies were all fading away. 

He tried to force himself to calm down. To think. This should change so very little. He _could_ still go to London; it would just be a matter of time before another opportunity arose. His preparations would still hold true for whenever the auction was rearranged for, and it wasn’t as though Bill was the only person who could put together a set of tools for breaking and entering.

He shouldn't care this much. What _happened_ to the version of him who chalked unfortunate circumstance to bad luck and went about his day? 

Redd. 

Outside, the train was slowing to a halt, calling at Reading station. On the platform the stationmaster pottered about in the rain, ushering people on board as quickly as possible in an attempt to keep them dry. He could hear passengers down the corridor, laughing and talking, lamenting the weather.

He had to see him. 

Whistles began to blow, signals went up, and steam hissed from the engine as the train slowly prepared to set off. In his haste Greyson abandoned his chest, threw the train door open and, as it started to pull away from the station, stepped out onto the platform, heading out into the rain.

* * *

 

Greyson returned to the _Brutale_ with more than a sense of trepidation. The return journey to the mansion had left him rather fraught, the train from Reading to Oxford being rather uncomfortable due to him being soaked through to the skin. He’d have to call the stationmaster in Paddington to retrieve his abandoned coat and luggage, but it hardly mattered at this moment. He made the taxi driver stop the car half way up the drive, preventing him from pulling up to the front of the house. He was keen not to let Lucas see him, not yet.   
  
Slipping into the mansion via the side entrance, cutting through the warm and bustling kitchen, he ignored the glances from the staff who were giving him pointed looks about his bedraggled appearance. He straightened his lapels, pulling the sodden fabric of his suit jacket to straighten it, and made his way through the casino; Redd was apparently not at work, the tables manned by the croupiers in his command, or in some cases, the clockwork monstrosities that Sixpence built. Out of habit he cast a side-eye to the security room, glancing at the one way glass dominating one wall. Clay hadn’t come storming out with murder in his eyes, so perhaps his absence hadn’t fully been felt yet. After all, he’d only been gone a few hours. A waiter approached to take his drink order, or perhaps to offer him a towel; he waved him away. He didn't have time to waste. 

Disappointed, he made his way through Redd’s usual haunts. It was far too early to find him at the bar, though he checked anyway, and the library was cold and empty. He went to Redd’s room, and after knocking yielded no results, began to pick the lock out of habit. Half way through the task he paused, and shook his head. He withdrew his picks, sliding them neatly into his pocket.

In hindsight, it was obvious where he would be.

The music room was dimly lit and, despite the gloom of the day, the curtains drawn to prevent any natural light filtering through. It was not unoccupied. From within he could hear the piano being played, but there were a lot of slipped notes, heavy handed presses of keys, and a disregard for accuracy in favour of emotion.

Greyson took a deep breath, willing the tension to leave his body. He recognised the song. 

“Redd?” Greyson took a decisive step into the music room, his shoulders back, head held high, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Redd flickered his eyes up from the keyboard, acknowledging his presence, but not saying a word. There was a half-empty bottle of gin on the table next to him, a lead-crystal glass next to it. Greyson sighed. Perhaps it hadn’t been too early for a drink after all.

He walked up to the piano. “Redd, look, I can explain.”

“There really is no need,” Redd said, his voice professional, measured, though there was an edge of bitterness to his tone. A far cry from the raw emotion of the last time he saw him. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you’re probably bloody furious at me.”

“No. I expect this sort of behaviour from you. You are a two-bit scoundrel, after all.” He continued to play, his heavy press of the keys confirming his anger.

“Redd…”

“I need to practice. If you would be so kind as to leave,” Redd’s eyes met his, icy and determined.

Greyson took a step closer to him, and rested a hand on Redd’s shoulder. Despite everything, Redd still didn’t pull away.

He stopped playing.

“Look at me, please? I’m not going anywhere.”

Redd didn’t say anything; his expression was sceptical, a single eyebrow raised. 

“I’m sorry I left.” Greyson continued. “More importantly, I’m sorry I left you.”

Redd shook the hand away, his expression twisting into a sneer.

“You already did. You care more about stupid _blasted_ robberies and jewels than you ever did about me. Do you really think so little of me, to think I’m that naïve as to believe you now?”

“My dear fellow. No.” Greyson tried to cup Redd’s cheek, guide his face to turn towards him, showing sincerity through touch. Redd stood up abruptly, snapping his head away. Drawing himself to his full height he looked Greyson dead in the eye.  

“Grey, I've told you before; I can’t do this. I won’t be toyed with and discarded like… like the unfortunate people from your past. God only knows _why_ you’ve been leading me on like this, but it ends now.”

“Redd-“

“I don’t _care_ if you stay or go. You’ll do as you please. But I respectfully ask that you leave me alone.” Redd stalked towards the half-empty bottle of gin and poured a decent measure into his glass. He knocked the shot back, a harsh glare in his eyes.

Greyson winced, feeling a grip in his chest at the words, astonished at how much they wounded him.

“Redd… I came here to tell you that I’ve been a bloody fool. Again. All this nonsense chasing treasures –I want no part of it. From now on, there’ll be no more heists, cons or burglaries. This is me officially retiring”

“Is that what you actually want, or because you feel guilty?”

“I want nothing more than to leave it all behind.”

“I don’t believe you. I’ve heard this before. Another Egg will come along. Or a diamond.”

“Not anymore. Please, trust me when I say this.”

Redd snorted, his eyes narrowed as he shakily placed the glass back on the table.

“I don’t know how you have the audacity to ask me to trust you. What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something did, didn’t it? Somehow I don’t think you got all the way to London and realised that you were making a mistake.” Redd poured himself another shot, splashing gin over the polished wood. He cradled the glass in his hand.

Greyson sighed, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to combat the sudden chill in the room.

“Yes, it did.” He admitted. “One of my old… acquaintances got to the auction house first. He broke in last night.”

“So that’s it? You couldn’t complete your fool’s errand so you decided to come back here? Lie in wait until another opportunity comes along?”

“No, it isn’t like that!”

“It bloody sounds like it.”

“He  _died_ , Redd. Either by an accident or killed by the police, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“A friend?”

“Hardly. But it was _my_ heist. It could have so easily been me.”

“I thought you didn’t care if you _nearly_ died. Nothing short of actual harm shakes you up, does it Greyson?”

“Please! I am trying to tell you – you were right! You’ve always been right.”

Redd said nothing, his face set in an impassive scowl. Once again Greyson was struck with the family resemblance between him and Clay. Greyson pulled up a chair and sat down in it heavily.

“Ever since that night at the Theatre, things have rather spiralled out of control for me. You were… half-right about what happened then. I wouldn’t have been hurt if you’d have left me alone in that bloody cage. It was one of Lucas’s stupid tricks; he told me himself. But, the electricity was real, and if he hadn’t have shut it off, _you_ would have died, grabbing the bars as you did. Knowing that, knowing that you would have actually been hurt because of your feelings for me-“

He paused, swallowing, looking away.

“It has shaken me more than I could possibly say. After that night… I came to hate it here. Day after day, all I could see were the flaws, the failings. Everything I once loved about places like these, the glamour and the opulence; it was ruined. Tarnished.”

“I didn’t know.” Redd said, folding his arms. “I didn’t know you were so miserable.”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

“I swear the only thing that kept me sane in this madhouse was you… but it wasn’t enough. I can’t control anything here! I have swept through this building, found its secrets, and in return it has taken all of mine. I… just wanted to go back to who I was before I accepted Lucas’s invitation to work for him – before I even knew the Moloch Egg existed.”

Greyson struggled with the words, his usual skill in that regard failing him. He glanced up at Redd, beseeching. Redd’s expression didn’t change.

“I thought this heist was going to do that, let me back into that lifestyle I thought was preferable. And today I found out that the very thing which should have been relatively benign and familiar led to the death of someone I _know_ is competent at this sort of thing. I don’t think Bill would have made a schoolboy error.”

“So you figured you’d try your luck here again.”

“No! Not like that. I’ve come back, yes, but…. I’ve come back to you.” Greyson stood up and met Redd’s gaze, taking a hesitant step forward. When he next spoke, it was without arrogance, or confidence. His voice was barely above a whisper:

“After the hell we suffered in the theatre, you told me you were in love me with me; I feel the same way.”

Redd blinked in surprise, shaking his head as though he didn’t hear him properly.

“Excuse me?”

“Despite everything we’ve been through, the danger I’ve put you in, and the pain I’ve caused… if you still want to be mine, I’m yours.”

Redd slammed the glass down on the table, his face flushed.

“Don’t torment me like this! How _dare_ you!”

“I mean it. I’m just sorry it has taken me this long to realise it. To tell you.”

Redd looked at him, his eyes soulful despite his scowl, the internal conflict clear. Greyson patiently waited, his own expression open and for the first time in a long time, honestly vulnerable.

“Grey… I can’t just-”

Redd trailed off, raking his hand through his hair. There was a tense silence, for a moment neither of them moving. Greyson didn’t dare speak, waiting for the rejection he knew he honestly deserved.

Redd took a decisive step forward, and with no more than a flashing glance to the open door he pulled Greyson into a deep kiss. His lips crushed against Greyson’s, an edge of desperation and relief permeating the move. Greyson reached up to touch Redd’s face, stroking his hand back to lace in his hair.

“Redd…” he whispered, not wanting to break the moment, to ruin what could be their last kiss.

“I _want_ nothing more. But… Greyson… how can you say these things… when you’ve acted… so…” The words were spoken between feverish and desperate kisses, Redd’s body pressed close to his despite the discomfort of Greyson’s wet clothing. His strong arms gripped him tightly, holding him in place in a decidedly possessive action. Redd’s teeth nipped his bottom lip, making him moan at the sharpness of the sensation.

“I’ve been an utter bastard to you.” Greyson whispered back, gasping at the utter greediness of Redd’s lips against his own. “I’m sorry.”  

Redd pulled back, staring into his eyes, his expression utterly serious.

“Grey, I mean it. I can’t cope with being manipulated. Used and rejected. If this is another con, I need you to leave.”

“I love you. I’m sorry for not telling you about all this. I’m sorry for leaving… it doesn’t reflect my feelings for you. That’s been one constant in all of this – you, and being with you, makes me so unreasonably happy-”

Redd kissed him into silence. Greyson closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation. If this was going to be the last time he felt this, he was going to bloody well remember it.

To his surprise he felt Redd tug at his jacket, opening it up to reveal his equally damp shirt. Greyson felt a rush at Redd’s hands working to strip him, unbuttoning the fabric to expose his stomach, but also astonishment. It was one thing to kiss him in public, something he’d been encouraging for weeks, but entirely another to make such a bold move as to undress him. At first he thought it was just for comfort as it couldn’t have felt any more pleasant for Redd to hold him with his clothes as sodden as they were as it was for him to wear the blasted things, but when he felt a hand slip inside his shirt and caress his cool skin he couldn’t help but flinch.

“What are you doing?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.”  

Greyson smiled. He was thrilled at Redd pushing past whatever hang-up he had about public displays of affection, but he wondered how much was for his sake.

He held onto Redd’s hand, lacing their fingers together, preventing him from going any further.

“How about we go somewhere a little more private?”

* * *

 

Once in the comfort of Redd’s room – it was every bit as meticulous as he remembered it being- Greyson gladly peeled back his clothes as soon as he was able, tossing them unceremoniously to the floor and feeling imminently more comfortable standing naked than he had done for a long time. Not only was he free from the clammy, clinging feeling of his garments, it also felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the dread surrounding him, suffocating him, evaporating with each passing second. Redd hadn’t outright said that things were over between them, and that he was even here made him feel so unreasonably content. 

No sooner had he stepped out of his undershorts when he was quickly joined by Redd, still half-clothed with his shirt hanging open, and his underwear failing to hide the state he was in. Greyson was guided into a kiss, and pushed decisively to the bed.

Falling back on the mattress, the warm silk of the sheets shifting deliciously under his cool skin, he relished the feeling of Redd’s firm body pressed against his, his hands running over the sensitive flesh of his torso. The combination of being chilled by the rain, and anticipation of what was to come, had the rather over-stimulating outcome of making Redd’s touch feel almost painfully hot, his fingertips searing across his nerve endings making Greyson gasp and squirm with each caress.

Redd certainly noticed; a small smile played on his lips as he repeated the move, paying particular attention to places he knew he could exploit such a reaction. He ran the pads of his fingers over Greyson’s nipples, down his abdomen, and with a wicked grin, shifted his movement to caress the soft skin of his thighs.  

“You’re such a tease…” Greyson growled. He made to stroke himself, to give some relief to the heat pooling in his groin, but Redd captured his wrists, and moved them back to the mattress.

“It’s only fair…” Redd’s mouth was instantly at his throat, his tongue against his pulse as his blood surged; every sense felt intensely heightened. This was nothing like the other times they had had sex, where he comfortably led Redd through the possibilities of what they could explore together, or where he took control and explored Redd’s body and encouraged him to do the same, or goaded him into a desperate wild fervour, teasing him within an inch of his life. Redd was leading, decisively, resolutely, with an air of confidence that made Greyson weak at the knees.

How could he leave this?

Redd suddenly pulled away, casting off his half-undone shirt, and sliding his shorts over his thighs. His cheeks were flushed, the blush continuing down his pale neck and to his chest. Greyson propped himself on his arms, watching him, admiring how his muscles flexed and shifted with each movement.

“I don’t suppose you have any oil with you?” Redd asked, his voice husky and deep.

“In my pocket. I did tell you I was prepared.” 

Redd flashed him a grin, and, after rummaging through the discarded clothing, dutifully retrieved said item. He didn’t use it right away; instead he placed it within easy reach, before urging Greyson’s legs apart. Taking Greyson’s growing erection in his hand he began to stroke the heated flesh. His movement seemed almost deliberately slow, his grip gentle, and the lightness of his touch seemed to ignite a far stronger reaction than it had any right to. Greyson arched on the bed, thrusting into his hand, trying to feel more of that delicious sensation.

“Keep still…” Redd murmured as he leant down, his eyes burning into Greyson’s. Holding his cock by the base, he lowered his mouth with almost exaggerated flair. He was as much as a showman as Greyson was, sometimes. Greyson fought the urge to thrust, but there was something in Redd’s eyes which kept him still, made him wait, endure.

Redd smiled at him before licking the tip, rolling the head of his cock against his tongue, breathing heavily over the wet skin. Greyson shivered, a low groan in his throat as Redd drew the swollen head into his mouth, flicking the tip with his tongue, before sucking hard.

“Oh my god…” Greyson bit his lip, supressing a cry as he was taken in deeper, Redd sliding his tongue over his cock, drawing sharp whimpers of delight from his throat. When Redd started to pump his hand in time with the ministrations of his mouth, Greyson could barely prevent moaning his name. His nerves were on fire; the feeling almost bordered on pain in its intensity. Goosebumps chased each other over his skin; every touch, every sensation was magnified ten-fold, from the velvet touch of Redd’s tongue to the brush of silk against his skin as he writhed against the sheets.        

The passion of it all made the initial rush happen far too quickly, the familiar rising sensation in his abdomen reaching its crescendo. Perhaps sensing it, Redd quickly pulled back, allowing Greyson a moment to collect his resolve, to get over that first surge which threatened to send him over the edge. 

“Lie back,” Redd whispered, gently lifting Greyson’s legs over his shoulders, tilting his body and raising his hips. Greyson manoeuvred himself to be comfortable, supported against a nest of pillows.

Redd slicked his fingers with the oil, first trailing them over his cock, making the hot flesh glisten in the dim light, before moving against Greyson, drawing him into an intimate caress, stretching him, preparing him for what was to come.

Greyson moaned at the touch. His hard-fought resolve was threatening to leave him in an instant; he felt painfully close to the edge. In a desperate movement he grabbed Redd’s wrist, hoping to stop the movement which would have him finishing far too soon.  

A flash of concern crossed Redd’s face.

“Are you all right? Is this enough or…”

Greyson laughed softly; Redd had been doing a wonderful job of taking control, but sometimes he was just too polite.

“Yes… don’t look so concerned, old boy. I just need a moment. Come here…” letting go of his wrist, he reached up and caught a handful of Redd’s thick hair before drawing him down for a kiss.

“You don’t have to pull my hair, you know.”

“It’s just habit, I guess. It isn’t like I get the chance often.”

Redd’s expression twisted into an amused grin as he leaned forward, kissing Greyson softly. Taking advantage of the position, with a smooth motion he eased himself forward, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oh… good lord, you feel incredible…” Greyson groaned, automatically rocking his body against his, taking him deeper. He could feel pressure mounting within him as Redd began to thrust, long smooth strokes making him unintentionally flex and shiver. Reaching down, his free hand met Redd’s, guiding him to hold his cock, stoke him, bring him closer and closer to climax in line with the hot, pounding pleasure inside him.

Redd’s entire body flushed as he laboured with each thrust, maintaining his almost painfully slow pace despite how much he obviously wanted to break it, go wild with the desire he kept so under wraps.

“God, Redd… please… harder…”

Redd moaned at his words. The intensity grew as Redd picked up pace, his hips driving him further into the bed, Greyson’s sweat-slicked skin rubbing against the sheets with satisfying friction.

Redd’s breathing hitched in his throat, his breath hot as he gasped with each powerful thrust, his thick, hard cock surging deep inside, Greyson’s own throbbing in Redd’s grasp, delicious tension mounting higher and higher. He felt his orgasm rushing forward as Redd abandoned his long strokes in favour of sharp, forceful strikes instead.

He peaked, crying out at the intensity, his moans turning into a whimper as Redd did nothing to slow down, nothing to temper his wild and fervent movements. Pleasure so sharp it was painful, all he could was endure until Redd’s panting quickened to a final explosive gasp.

Redd’s body strained for a moment before he collapsed forward, limp and relaxed.

They lay still, breathing deeply.

“That was perfect…” Redd whispered weakly. “Just… perfect.”

“You’re telling me…” Greyson muttered. He fought his arms free from where they were tangled and wrapped them firmly around Redd’s torso, holding his body close.

Contrasted against the explosive heat of a few moments ago, a cold draught had Greyson shivering. With a bit of manoeuvring they curled under the covers, Redd nestled against his chest, his arm around his waist.

“So I take it that things are forgiven?” Greyson asked, a smirk in his voice. Redd laughed.

“For now, I’m sure.”

“Good, because I’ve been thinking.” Greyson felt incredibly calm, relaxed. He glanced at Redd, his expression lazy in its contentedness.

“Coming from you, I’m beginning to think that’s inherently dangerous.” Redd said, closing his eyes as he settled into a doze.

“I still think leaving the _Brutale_ is the right idea, you know.” Greyson was prepared for Redd’s reaction, his body stiffening in his embrace, a definite hitch in his breathing. “Hear me out.”

“Go on, then.”

Greyson pressed a kiss to Redd’s forehead.

“This place will be the death of me, one way or another. No matter how resolved I am to not play Lucas’s games, this place is trouble. There will always be something to tempt me, or to entrap me.”

“I won’t let that happen. You know I look out for you.”

“But the threat will always be looming, and I don’t want that. I certainly don’t want you worrying after me every day. I think it would be best to leave, and I would like it if you were to come with me.”

Redd shook his head.

“To London? I’m sorry Grey, but I don’t think I could be an accomplice to a thief any more than you could suddenly play the piano.”

“No, no I understand that. I have no intention to go back into a life of crime; those days are well and truly behind me. This work I’ve done for Lucas I can do elsewhere; I may no longer be a thief, but I am still an expert in security. I promise you, I’ll only be taking the most legitimate contracts.”

Greyson paused, an unfamiliar wave of nervousness passing over him; he felt his heartbeat speed up slightly. “I was asking if you would like to come live with me. I have a flat in Upper Belgrave Street. A very comfortable one, and it is more than big enough for the two of us, even with my housekeeper and butler.”

“You want me as a housemate?”

“I was thinking more like a partner.” Greyson felt a jump in his pulse, and began to speak quickly to feign confidence. “And it will look quite proper on the surface, if that worries you; as far as anyone would know we are a couple of bachelors living the high life in Belgravia. You’ll fit right in with the other Bright Young Things in the area, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s… quite an idea.”

Greyson let out a long shaky breath, feeling some tension melt from his shoulders.

“I think it is a bloody good one, even if it were Lucas who suggested it.” He paused; with a gentle hand he guided Redd’s chin up to look at him. “Please think about it? I don’t need your answer right now. Or even this month. And if you honestly don’t want to, then we will stay here. Take as long as you need.”

Redd rolled him onto his back, his expression unreadable. He studied Greyson’s face, his eyes searching his. He broke into a soft smile, parting his lips to whisper his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of "Playing the Hand You're Dealt" I said that I was going to write a sequel, but it would be comprised of disjointed scenes based on prompts, focusing on smut and romance. Instead, I wrote an actual story which turned out to be longer than the work which spawned it. Go figure, I guess? 
> 
> Major shoutout to Rydain (check out her fics, they are incredible) for her invaluable input and enthusiasm, and to my wonderful beta for her patience with my terribly obtuse attitude towards grammar and proper sentence structure.


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